Esther and Star Ch. 01
Young guy, his prude wife, and his sexy older sister.
Is it weird that I've never seen my wife's asshole?
I think it is. A husband ought to know what his wife's asshole looks like—as a sign of intimacy, I mean. Through normal, healthy, married living, a husband and wife will probably, at some point, catch a glimpse of each other's assholes, right? Multiple times, I would imagine. I should be able to, if Esther's asshole ever went missing, describe it to a sketch artist so they could print it on the side of a milk carton.
I barely know what her pussy looks like. In fact, if I had to pick it out of a police line-up, with my wife's pussy and four other random ones, I don't think I could do it.
"Well, this shouldn't take too long, sir. Please, just tell us which pussy belongs to your wife," they'd say.
I'd glance from one to the other, confusion and embarrassment written all over my face. "Fuck," I'd sigh, dropping my head, "I don't know."
I also don't know what her pussy tastes like, which sucks. Right now, if someone came to me and said, "Fuck your wife and I'll give you a thousand bucks or eat her pussy and you get nothing," I'd totally eat her pussy. It would be instantaneous, too, my decision. I wouldn't think about it for a fraction of a fucking second. Boom!—my face is up her crotch.
Esther has never sucked my dick. I've asked. I've tried quite a few strategies. I'd have dressed my cock up like it was going to prom if I thought it would help. Put a little bow-tie on it. A fucking cummerbund. Top hat. Give it a cane and do a dick dance number for Esther.
***
Geez, I fucked up. I fucked up bad. I should never have married Esther. It was just—I had so much invested in her at that point. The fuck was I going to do? Break up? That wouldn't have been me.
My Mom once described me as "fiercely independent." I liked that.
One of my teachers called me "obstinate." I didn't even fucking know what that word meant at the time.
This was the problem: I don't like people telling me what I can and can't do.
When Coach Newhart, an assistant for Boston College, told me I couldn't play quarterback for a power five school and that I ought to list myself as an "athlete," I told my high school coach to list me only as a quarterback. Fuck Newhart.
The head coach of Georgia Tech came to see me play during my junior year. Had one of my best games that night. I fucking dominated. He wanted me to play quarterback for him.
But, he told me he wouldn't offer me a scholarship unless I got my grades up. He said, "Hit the books, kid. We don't offer scholarships to fools."
I knew right then that I would never play for Georgia Tech. Fuck him.
It's not so much that I can't be told what to do. It's more like I hate people thinking they know me, know what I'm capable of. When they do that, this impulse to prove them wrong just seizes me.
So, when my high school pals called me an idiot for trying to date Esther—that there was no way she would ever go out with me—I decided that I was going to be her boyfriend no matter what the cost.
Later after graduation, when all kinds of people told me I shouldn't marry her, I went out and bought a ring.
***
I met Esther in high school. She was a Jehovah's Witness, and she wasn't supposed to interact socially with non-Witnesses like me, but I made her laugh in class.
Esther was the church freak that everyone avoided. To her own classmates, she didn't exist. You only remembered she was there when you heard her name during roll call.
My interest in her began in PE during my freshman year. Esther and I had gym together, and during our warm-ups, her mat was right in front of mine. Every day, I watched her stretch and do calisthenics. By October, I began to look forward to PE and those five or ten minutes.
There was a calmness about her that appealed to me. She was completely at peace with herself and her outcast status. She stretched like she was the only person on the entire gym floor. She would hum some churchy-sounding hymn to herself and stretch as if every movement were of critical importance. She breathed deeply and contorted herself without inhibition. I liked how she didn't give a fuck. She stretched like she was saying, "Fuck you. Laugh at me. I don't care." Of course, she'd never say anything remotely vulgar.
Esther had a heart-shaped face—big cheekbones and a tiny, pointed chin. She had brown eyes and thick eyelashes. When she smiled, which was rare, her teeth shined and her eyes became little crescents. She was pretty, and when she smiled, she was gorgeous. She didn't wear make-up.
Her white-blonde hair was insanely long, almost down to her ass, and very straight. It looked so silky and smooth, Esther's hair, like a waterfall. It was mesmerizing.
A line from an old movie came to me at some point later on: we begin to covet what we see every day. This seemed very true of how I felt about Esther.
We sat next to each other in English during our Sophomore year. I always greeted her, always asked her for help, and always tried to make her laugh. She became my obsession.
I didn't love her. She loved me. Her church wouldn't like us being together and dating, so we kept it a secret.
We made out, but that's it. Nothing more. To go any further, I knew I would have to marry her. By the time we were both eighteen and seniors, her pussy became this lock that I had to get the key for—no matter what the consequences.
A three-year starter at varsity quarterback, I should have been nose deep in pussy. All my friends were getting laid. They gave me shit about it.
Senior year, her parents figured out about us and told the church. She was "marked by the elders," which apparently was a pretty big fucking deal. It sounded to me like a bunch of old assholes jerked off on her face or something.
She cried a lot about being marked, but I managed to keep seeing her. She loved me.
After graduating, we got married, and she was given a formal "reproof" by her church. She was allowed to continue to attend, but no one could socialize with her—even her own family. She was not allowed to talk at meetings. People wouldn't even look at her. During the hearing, she explained to the elders that she was witnessing to me, otherwise they might have kicked her out.
Teams of Witnesses came to our shitty little apartment to speak with me about their faith. The minute they saw me, I could almost see them deflate.
I am a motherfucking predator. No point in trying to be modest about it.
I look like a fucking gladiator: lean, but stacked with rippling muscles.
Witnesses are non-violent. They're all pacifists, getting kicked out if they join the military.
Anyways, my physical build was the opposite of the average male Witness. My body looked poised to wreak havoc. Their bodies looked eager to surrender to any invading force, including one comprised entirely of chinchillas.
They looked at me and said their words. They gave me their books and pamphlets, then left. Really, giving a book to me was like handing a laptop to a baboon. They knew. One look at me, and they understood how I would never fit. It was useless.
So, to finally get some pussy, I married Esther and put off college. When I say college, the best I could have done would have been a community college. No university offered me a football scholarship or even admitted me because of my grades and test scores. I barely graduated.
I also married her because, like I said, people told me not to. So I married her out of pride, lust, and fear—all the worst reasons to get married. It was selfish of me. I took her from her own family. I knew it would create problems, and it did.
On our wedding night, I discovered that oral sex was not an option—for religious reasons. I probably should have done some research. Shit. Well, I put five loads of cum in her little pussy.
Fuck her pussy was tiny. Couldn't tell you what it looked like or how it tasted, but Esther's pussy was a carnival ride for my cock. It barely fit in that silky slit of hers.
My wife never had a conventionally sexy body. It was one you had to study and figure out to see its beauty.
Her tits were neither small nor big. They sloped out and up, like little ski jumps.
Her most prominent feature were her jutting hips. She almost looked like she was wearing football hip pads. Her hip bones were high and forward, shortening her torso, lengthening her sleek, sexy legs, and making her seem like she was always thrusting her waist forward. It was like she was walking around saying, "Have you seen my pussy today?"
I love girls' asses, and Esther's jutting hips kind of hid her ass from view most of the time. But, when it emerged, when she bent over...fuck me. Esther had a secret weapon. Her ass, though low and small, popped out in a gloriously sexy curve when she wanted it to.
Esther is a sweet, sweet girl. She's totally shy but in that attractive, feminine way. And she's strong—not physically—but in her beliefs and how she'll fight for them. But, Esther is fragile. You sense it the better you come to know her. You realize that you could never, ever say a cross word to her or give her a dirty look. When she looked at me, she saw the best in me. She saw me as a learner, not an idiot. She saw my fierce independence, not my obstinacy. How could I not have married this girl? How could I have broken her heart like that?
Despite my stubbornness about not becoming a Witness and her own shaky status in the congregation, Esther kept the faith in every way. She prayed, she read her Watchtower and her New World Bible daily. She abstained from banned substances, foods, and drinks. She would not engage with me in anything other than vaginal sex.
She never let me fuck her doggy style. I asked her where that one was in her New World Bible. She got upset, and I felt really guilty. She's fragile.
We married right after graduation. To keep us both fed, clothed, and sheltered, I found a maintenance job at the CSX railroad, repairing ties and replacing ballast (the rock that the rails and ties rest upon). During my second year, they started hiring conductors like crazy. My foreman liked me, and so I had his recommendation. I went through the program, graduated, and ran trains for a time.
I had zero seniority, so when things got tight for the railroad, I was furloughed. The economy was shit, and I couldn't find work that would keep us going.
Then, my older sister, Star, called me.
***
Star is hard to describe. Three years older than me, she's like a combination of a Disney princess and a frat boy.
During my freshman year of high school, I was sitting on the sofa in the basement watching a movie one afternoon. She came running down the stairs.
"Hey, dickhead!" she called, "You know those big brown sausages they hang from the tops of the meat shelves in supermarkets?"
I turned from the show. "Huh? Yeah."
"I just shit one of those. Had to have been sixteen inches long," she said, smiling, and walking down the steps.
"Fuck, Star! That's fucking sick!"
She started giggling and walked over right beside me. "Smells like buffalo wings, go up there and check it out."
"Aw, fuck, you're going to make me puke. Get away!"
"Should we see what happens if I fish it out of there and put it in the microwave?"
"Star, that is the most disgusting..."
Before I could even finish, she spun around, sat on my arm, and farted on it.
"Star! I'm going to fucking..." I chased her up the stairs and slammed the door behind her. She was laughing the entire time.
Some people teach themselves how to burp; Star taught herself to fart. I don't know how she did it, but she could kind of lean to the side, move her stomach, and then sit back down and fart, and she could do it repeatedly.
One time, Star pissed in a ziplock bag and put it in my backpack with all my books. I found it before it busted open. A few days later, Mom screamed for Star from the kitchen. Mom had found a bag of Star's frozen piss in the freezer. How did she know it was Star's? She knew Star, that's why. Star told me: she was going to use that frozen piss do a kind of delayed piss-bag attack on me at school while it thawed in my locker.
I chewed out Star one time for not wrapping up her tampons well enough in the bathroom trash can.
Big mistake.
Next day, she'd put a used one on the door handle of my bedroom. It was grisly, that fucking thing. I only found out later that it wasn't real; she'd dipped it in chunky salsa.
So there's that part of Star's personality—the raunchy side.
On the other side, she's a total girly-girl. She jumped into make-up at an early age. She loves pink. She did ballet for years. She loves ponies and kittens. She watches romantic comedies and cries during those abandoned pet commercials. There's a gigantic poster of a rainbow unicorn in her room. I'm not shitting. She took it off to college and had it in her dorm room.
She had an athlete's body. Star was a hell of a basketball player. So graceful. She'd go between her legs twice with the ball, fake inside, then drive outside, under the hoop, and do a reverse lay-up. So smooth. I only ever admitted it to myself: Star was hot, just hot. Not pretty or beautiful. Hot. I denied it to my friends, who drooled over her until I punched them in the gut.
She stunned us about half-way through her senior year when she called the entire family into the kitchen and announced that she was a lesbian. She was the prom princess junior year. She had all kinds of boyfriends. What the fuck?
She went off to college, and I continued through high school, pursuing Esther. Guaranteed: my sister got more pussy than I ever did. And she had more fun than I ever did. While my sister and her college friends were partying—hell, while my high school friends were partying—I was watching Esther read the Bible and trying like hell to muster the courage to put my hand on her leg.
I loved Star, but I kind of resented her, too. She just had so much fucking fun. Star was irresistibly fun.
***
Star called me from Boston and told me about a job working for the "T"—the transportation authority up there. One of her friends worked in the Commuter Rail department, running trains from the suburbs as far as Providence into and from the city. The T paid well, and they had a fucking amazing pension plan. They needed crews; they were expanding.
I drove up there, filled out the forms, interviewed, and got the job. Star had a decent place in the Longwood area that she rented. She persuaded her roommate to move out, and she offered the second bedroom to us.
Esther, ever a traditionalist in matters of marriage, deferred to me, and I took the job and the apartment. We were going to live with my sister until I could afford a place of our own.
Of course, Esther let her parents know. So, the church knew. The day before we left, the elders called her in, assembled a judicial committee, and "disfellowshipped" her. Esther was no longer a Witness. She was shunned.
She was fragile; it crushed her.
***
We had been married slightly less than two years on our first night in Boston; Star let us have some privacy.
Esther was quiet on the drive up, quiet during unpacking, and quiet next to me in bed. The lights were out, and in the complete darkness, we laid there. I listened to her breathe.
"Esther?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you hate me?"
"No, sweets."
"You should. Because of me, you've lost your family and your church. I lost my job. Because of me, we lost our apartment. Now, the best I can do for you is rooming with my sister."
I heard her start sniffling.
"I'm so sorry, babe."
"It's not your fault," she whispered. "They furloughed you."
It wasn't what I wanted her to say. She needed to tell me it was all my fault and that she hated me. I wanted her to leave me. That way, I could divorce her.
Part of it was for her own happiness. Esther should have married a nice Witness boy, spent her time at Meeting and prayer, and raised a bunch of believers for kids.
She would never divorce me; I knew that. I wouldn't divorce her, not unless she left me or cheated. But, she wasn't going to have an affair. She was too good for that.
I might have had an affair, except for Esther. I could never break her heart like that.
No, the decision had to be hers. I could never initiate it; that would be like telling the world I'd made a mistake. I'd die before I went that route.
She put her soft little hand on my back. "And you got a new job. And I like your sister. This will give me a chance to get to know her a little better."
At first, Esther really wanted children, right away. I didn't want any kids. Not yet, at least. We hadn't been able to conceive, and not for any lack of cum in her pussy. It was the only fucking place I could put it.
But, within weeks of our marriage, for reasons beyond my understanding, Esther's enthusiasm for sex began to diminish. She began to say she didn't want kids, yet, and she used that as an excuse to avoid having sex with me. I tried to ask her about it, but Esther's faith and her upbringing made sex conversations extremely uncomfortable for her.
The fewer and fewer times we did have sex, it was because I was insistent and she, always dutiful, would let me, asking that I not finish inside her.
So, there'd be a wet spot on the bed, separating us, when we went to sleep.
It was incredibly frustrating for me; I wanted to fuck her every night. I was constantly ready for sex. It surprised—no, alarmed—it alarmed her, my unrelenting desire.
Truth is, I began to feel like I had some kind of problem. Remember, I was almost totally inexperienced in these things, and I was no big reader or learner. I figured I knew how this shit worked. So, I started to feel guilty about how horny I was. Nothing crushed my spirit more than being refused by my own wife, being made to feel like I was some disgusting, sex-crazed maniac.
She never said those things. She probably didn't even believe them. It's just how I felt.
Laying with her in bed, our first night in Boston, I wanted to fuck her. Shit, I was hard.
She was still sniffling. I rolled over and held her, keeping careful not to jab her little ass with my boner.
She fell asleep right away. I laid there and considered jerking off, which I rarely did, despite my hunger for sex.
Then, I heard Star roll in. It was late.
I got up and went out to talk to her. I couldn't fucking sleep.
She was in the kitchen, scrounging for a snack when she heard me. "Oh, it's you," she said, "Where are the chips?"
"I put them in that cupboard there."
"Here?"
"No, that one."
She opened it and pulled out the bag of Lays. "Put them in the pantry next time."
I nodded and collapsed into the couch of our shared living room.
"Can't sleep?" she asked, walking over and sitting in the lazy boy beside me.
"Nah," I responded, "What did you do tonight?"
"Met up with some friends, danced, and had some drinks."
"Meet anyone?"
"Wasn't really looking," she responded, shoving a handful of chips in her mouth.
I listened to her munch.
Then, she asked, "What's being married like?"
"Why? Are you thinking about it?"
She shrugged. "Everybody thinks about it. I mean, is it nice to always have someone? A partner? Someone to always do stuff with? Someone to snuggle with every night?"
"Esther is very nice, very sweet. I don't know. You get used to it, I guess."
"That's not really a ringing endorsement of marriage."
"There's a lot of good things, okay?"
Star smiled at the lie. Then, she said, "Can I ask you something?"
I looked up at her.
"Is it true that you guys don't have oral sex?"
My face contorted into a grimace at her words. "Have you two been fucking talking behind my back or something?"
"No!" she protested. "No. No. No. I read about Jehovah's Witnesses online after you two were engaged."
I looked down at the ground.
"So, it's true," she concluded.
I nodded.
"Wait a minute. Did you know? Before?"
I glanced at her and shook my head.
Star burst into laughter.
"Fuck off, Star. And be quiet. Esther's sleeping."
"Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh. And no anal either, right?"
"Fuck, no," I said. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Then I started chuckling a little.
Our laughter slowly died away, and after a few seconds of silence, Star asked, "When did you two start dating?"
"Beginning of sophomore year."
"That's right," she said, and then her face looked like she was doing mental math and she said, "Have you ever had oral sex, like, in your life?"
"What the fuck do you care, Star?"
"Because it'd be a tragedy if you haven't, that's why."
I sighed. "No, I've never gotten it or given it, okay? Fuck."
"Oh, brother mine, that is one of the saddest things I've heard."
"I'm okay."
"Sure you are," she said drily, and then she asked, "So what can you do together?"
"Fuck. Kiss. Touch."
"Can you suck her tits?"
"Are we having this conversation?"
She stared at me.
I nodded.
Star pursued the subject. "Can you finger her?"
I nodded, saying, "But, not just to do that. It has to be in preparation for sex."
"What else? What can't you do?"
"Look, we can't do anything weird."
"Right, but what's something normal that you can't do?"
"She won't let me fuck her from behind," I said.
"What?!"
I nodded.
"That's, like, the best position, though!"
I stared at her. "Star, you're a lesbian."
"We have strap-ons, dumb ass," she shot back. Then, to my surprise, she added, "And, I don't know, maybe I miss it sometimes."
"You miss guys? Being with guys?"
She sighed. "It probably grosses you out, but dildos are a far, far cry from the real thing."
"I'll take your word for it."
Star engaged the footrest and reclined in the chair. She closed her eyes and said, "Oh, brother mine, aren't we a pair?"
***
I woke up early and showered before heading in to work for training. When I came out, Esther was still asleep.
That never happened. She always woke up when I took a shower. She'd sit up in bed and start the day by reading her New World Bible.
Every morning that week, she skipped it.
After my first week of training was finished, I asked her about it.
She sighed. "I feel like I need to think, not read."
We were all in the family room watching tv on Saturday morning. I could tell that Star, again, had a late Friday night. I asked Esther if she wanted to go into the city, but she glanced at Star for a moment and then said she didn't know.
Star said, "You go ahead. Esther and I are going to hang out."
I went to Harvard Square, just to check it out. Good fucking balls, that was a freak show! Bunch of sun worshipper-looking dudes handing out pamphlets by the stairs, a group of people whose genders I could not decipher protested and chanted by the newspaper stand. All kinds of raggedy musicians hang out there. One dude was even playing the fucking kazoo. Dancing around and playing the kazoo—for money. Even the homeless people in Harvard Square are fucking weird. One guy—a white guy with long dreadlocks—was wearing a bra and panties on the outside of his clothes. I gave him a few bucks.
I may seem like a dick, but I always try to give homeless people a little money. I don't give a shit if they buy a drink with it. If I were homeless, I might want a fucking drink, too.
Anyways, I couldn't imagine a Witness walking through Harvard Square. To them, it'd be like navigating a minefield of devils in hell.
I walked around for a while, went into a couple of shops, ate lunch at Charlie's—pretty good burger joint. Then, before I left, I went into the bookstore—the Harvard Coop. Not for me, of course; Esther's the reader.
I probably sound like an arrogant asshole saying this, but I went to the Self-Help section to find something for Esther. Right. I know. Typical male dickface: he fucks up his wife's life and then buys her the self-help book. Nice.
I wasn't thinking of it that way. I was thinking she was in the dumps and that she liked books. That's it.
So, I wandered through the shelves and, after a while, my eyes came across a book titled, "Disfellowshipped." There was some subtitle, I don't know, I didn't read it. I figured it was a book about how to cope and maybe get back in the church.
What I found out much later was that this book was not in the Self-Help section. I'd wandered past that area into the Religion section. I definitely, definitely got the wrong book for Esther. Holy shit.
But, I didn't know that as I was breaking out my wallet and paying for the fucking thing. I was glad to be leaving the bookstore, having found something that might help my wife feel better.
When I got home, Esther and Star were chatting in the living room. Esther was wiping her eyes. They both glanced up at me as if I were something of an intruder.
"Hey," I said.
Esther got up, walked over, and hugged me. Her eyes were red from crying.
"You okay?" I asked.
She nodded, and I gave her the book, saying I thought it might help. She briefly glanced at it and thanked me.
I went into the kitchen and grabbed a Coke from the fridge. I saw a T pass card on the counter.
"Hey, Star?"
"Yeah?"
I held up the card. "This yours?"
She nodded.
I said, "But, Star, this is a full-ride pass." Her card, the most expensive one, gave her unlimited service for the month on the subway, bus, and commuter rail.
"So?"
"You get this from work?"
She hesitated and then said, "Yes."
"Why? Dana-Farber is, like, a five-minute walk from here. Not even." Star worked for the Jimmy Fund, a fundraising wing of the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.
"I go other places in the city, you know," she responded, smiling condescendingly.
"Dana-Farber pays for that? Even though they know you live here?"
"Yes."
"You use the commuter rail?"
"Sometimes. There's cool places to go outside of the city."
"Huh."
I glanced at the card and flipped it over. "Who's X35 Entertainment Limited?"
Quite a few companies in Boston offer free monthly T passes to employees as a benefit. The unlimited T passes often came stamped on the back with the name of the organization that provided it. Star's didn't have the Dana-Farber insignia, but said "X35 Entertainment Ltd."
She stood up and walked over. There was some urgency in her stride. "I don't know. Who cares?" she asked, reaching for the card.
"Just weird, I guess." I handed it to her.
She took it and put it in her pocket. "Where'd you go today?"
I told her about Harvard Square.
That night, I heard Star roll back in the house at about 2:00am. Again.
***
I slept late Sunday morning. When I woke up, Esther's back was to me. I rolled over and touched her shoulder. She flinched and drew away.
"Esther?"
Quickly, she spun toward me and her eyes were wet and glassy, pink and flushed. The book I had purchased yesterday was in her hands. She pushed it at me. "Did you even read the cover of this book?"
I took the book and looked from it back to her eyes. "It's not...it isn't about being disfellowshipped and what to do?"
"No!" she cried. "Look at it!"
I did. "Disfellowshipped: Abuse of Power in a Dangerous Cult," it read. The letters of the subtitle were stretched, skinny, and hard to read. No wonder I ignored it at the Coop, but, oh, fuck. "It...it was in the self-help section, Ess. I swear."
She rolled away from me, got out of bed, and went into the shower.
I read the back of the book. No, this was definitely not a self-help book for disfellowshipped Witnesses. This was an expose, packed with interviews from former members. It was a book designed to make her religion look abusive and foolish. I threw it down to the floor.
Strangely, on Tuesday morning, when I emerged from the shower, Esther was in bed, reading the book. Wednesday morning, too. And Wednesday night. In fact, Esther was either reading that book or reading on her tablet almost continuously.
When I asked her about it, she looked at me sternly and said, "I'm just reading."
Needless to say, I wasn't getting any pussy.
Esther did not look for work, and Star was okay with that. Esther kept house, and she loved doing it. She did all the laundry, cleaned the place, cooked dinner. Esther was a hell of a cook, too. Star was pleasantly surprised. Esther's cooking almost made up for the fact that I could never eat her pussy. Almost.
Every night, when I slid into bed beside her, she was reading. Her posture in bed signaled for me to stay away, but by Thursday, I was poking her ass with my cock.
"Let me read, please," she said, calmly.
"Esther, please. Just let me."
"Not now."
"Then, will you at least tell me what's got you so interested in that crummy book I bought you?" I never cursed in front of Esther.
She set the book down and rolled over. "Did you read the cover finally?"
"Yeah."
"So you know what it's about?"
"Basically."
She nodded. "I'm reading the book because I want to understand how others view my church, and I'm using the tablet to check their facts for myself."
"Like research or something?"
"Kind of, yes. Like a research project on the Watchtower." The Watchtower was the headquarters of all Witnesses.
"Can you tell me what you're finding out?"
She squinted a little and said, "I'm not sure the Watchtower is what I thought it was." She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and then rolled back over, opening her book.
"Ess?"
"Hmm?"
"Can I just...can I just use your body for a few minutes? You can keep reading."
I felt like an idiot saying it, but I couldn't help myself.
Esther flipped over and chewed me out for not treating sex seriously enough or some shit. I don't know. I was watching her lips, wondering what they might feel like on my dick.
The next day was June 1st. We didn't see Star all day. Esther kept reading.
On Saturday, I woke up early and went into the kitchen to eat some cereal. I saw a June T pass on the counter. Another unlimited one.
I looked around. Star was still zonked out from her late night. Man, I thought, she parties hard every weekend.
I grabbed it and flipped it over. X35 Entertainment Ltd, again.
This was no coincidence. Two cards from the same outfit? Plus, I had actually seen Dana-Farber unlimited passes. The logo didn't look anything like this.
I went back to our bedroom and grabbed the tablet from Esther's nightstand. I looked up the company.
It took me a few minutes, but I found it.
No way.
What I learned hit me like a cannonball to the gut. It was one of those bits of information that showed how fifteen other bits of information that I'd known for a while and been ignoring suddenly were all interconnected and made perfect sense.
Still, I said out loud, "No fucking way."
I spent a little bit more time on the tablet, looking up a few things, and then I gave myself a little mission.
I wasn't sure I wanted to do it, but I had to know.
Over lunch, I mentioned to Esther that I was going to go out with some buddies from work that night.
Star asked where we were going.
I told her Landsdowne Street near Fenway Park.
She nodded and said that she was going out, too.
Esther said she wanted to stay in and read.
I told Star to text me if she thought she might make it out to Fenway.
She nodded.
I left around 6:00, but not before something strange happened.
Esther hates it when I drink. Hates it. She won't talk to me for days. The few times I've been really sauced, I learned to stay the hell out of our bed. Anymore, nine times out of ten, I just tell her that I'm not drinking, and then I'll have some vodka, but not too much. She hasn't yet smelled it on my breath, but I have to be careful.
Before I left, Esther said, "You know, if you want to have some wine tonight, you should."
I stared at her.
She continued, "But, just wine, and not too much, okay?"
"Wine?"
She nodded.
I was stunned. Esther giving me the green light to drink alcohol? I said, "Okay."
What the fuck?
I went to a store downtown and picked up a few items I needed for the evening, and then I went back to Landsdowne Street, a place called Jillian's. I had a burger and a Dr. Pepper, watching the NBA playoffs. Yep, I went to Landsdowne Street, just like I said I would. But, this was not my final destination.
I was headed to Lagrange Street, downtown. Lagrange is practically an alley, not too far from the Commons on the Green Line. So, at 9:00pm, I paid my tab and went to the bathroom with my little bag of goods. I put them on, and then left Jillian's, taking the T into Boylston. From there, I walked over to Lagrange Street.
I was nervous.
But, I wouldn't be recognized. I was wearing a Northeastern University ball cap and a shitty fake mustache—stuff I picked up earlier that evening. In the mirror back at Jillian's, I thought, fuck, I look like an undercover cop or a sex offender.
I walked to the door. The cover was only $20, which surprised me. Music was bumping. There was a super high ceiling and a loft area above. In front, a raised white platform jutted out into the center of the area, maybe ten feet wide. It ended in a larger circle. In the middle of the circle was a silver pole that stretched from the floor to the ceiling at least 25 feet up.
The raised white platform was lined with barstools. High tables and chairs filled the place. A wide semi-circular staircase wound up to the loft area. The place was pretty packed and lights were dancing and moving all over the place.
A beautiful blonde server ushered me to a table against the far wall. I ordered a vodka tonic and watched a young red-headed woman in a very revealing Catholic school uniform gyrate on the platform.
I was at a place called Centerfolds. It was owned and operated by X35 Entertainment Limited.
'Roided-out bouncers eyeballed me and the other patrons almost continuously. I wondered if there was ever a moment when I wasn't being watched. My drink arrived. $18 bucks for a vodka tonic. I tipped her two dollars with an even $20. She was not impressed.
The redhead untied the knot of her white shirt between her breasts and threw it off, revealing a black lace bra.
I looked up toward the loft area. Two bouncers stood on either side of the steps at the top. There appeared to be tables, couches, loungers, and a few patrons.
My server came back. "Thinking about heading up to the loft?"
I said, "Uh, no, I was just wondering what was up there."
"Your dreams are up there, sweetie."
I smiled politely.
She explained, "Private rooms, private massages, semi-private dances and lap dances. It's $100 per hour to go up and you have to buy at least one bottle of champagne."
"How much is the champagne?"
"$200."
"I think I'll stay here."
The redhead was topless now, and her breasts were kinda big. No pasties at this place, nipples were fully on display. Below, she was down to her panties. Again, black lace. Scanty things. Fuck, she was gorgeous.
A bouncer came up to me and asked if I was expecting any friends to show up.
When I told him no, he nodded and turned away curtly. I guess these guys are trained to treat the cheap assholes like shit to make space for the big spenders.
I never liked these places. Been to a few. It's all a tease, and I don't like being teased.
Oh, I know. I suppose if I dropped two and a half grand, I could probably get my cock finally sucked, but I would never do that—not even during the short time that I had been single. And, fuck, what if you drop two and a half grand and don't get your cock sucked? How shitty would that be?
My neck craned forward and my jaw dropped. This place was different: the redhead removed her panties. She was completely naked up there. I saw the whole thing: the kit and the caboodles. She spun on her hands and knees and pointed her pink pussy at the patrons on my side.
Fuck. I took a big drink. Maybe the tease wasn't so bad.
I fended off two more staff members, inviting me to the loft area. Got unwelcome looks from both of them. I ordered another vodka tonic from my server and tipped her $5. Her face crinkled into a smile. I nursed it while two more dancers, both sexy, came and went.
Then, the DJ announced the next dancer. There was some fanfare to it, as if the guy knew this next dancer was a favorite. "Here comes...Stella!"
A guy next to the platform reared back and screamed, "Stella!!" Some line from an old movie, I think—the way he said it.
The new stripper came out to "Bulls on Parade."
My sister emerged from the dangling screen of diamond string beads with a pink punk-rocker pig-tailed wig, short jean jacket riddled with old rock buttons over a halter-top, and a form-fitting, torn jean skirt with very revealing ripped cut-outs on her hips. She wore tall black boots, and she was covered with black leather and chrome jewelry and chains.
It was the way she walked. I knew it was her, instantly. Everything was confirmed.
I had a feeling that her apartment was a little too nice, a little too well-located for a young woman with a mid-level marketing gig at a non-profit. How the hell could she pay for it? And, there was the fact that Star had been gone late at night on, like, every Friday and Saturday. Then, there was a time Esther had asked about something in Star's bag one night before she left the apartment. I didn't know what the hell they were talking about; I was watching tv. But, I remember Star explaining that it was for a costume party. I wondered why it didn't dawn upon me, then, that a costume party in May was a little strange.
Seeing her up there explained everything.
I watched the guys who were watching Star, and I started to get pissed. I ordered another drink, tipping $10 this time. I think I got a real smile, but I was ignoring it. I barely knew what Star was doing up there. My heart pounded, my muscles pumped with blood as I saw these fucking dildos ogle my sister.
My gaze must have been filled with hatred. A bouncer stepped in front of me.
"Is everything all right, sir?"
I awoke from a kind of anger-trance and looked at the dude. A big fucker in a cream silk suit with a blue tie; he had an earpiece in his right ear with a coiled wire down his thick neck. "I'm fine," I said.
He stared at me for a few seconds and then turned away.
"Wait," I called to him.
He turned back to me.
"How long has Sta...Stella been working here?"
"Why don't you ask her yourself in the loft? She'll be up there when she's done here."
I shook my head, and he left me alone. I scanned the room, looking for dicks who might try to fuck with Star. When I looked back to the stage, I was transported.
I use that word—transported—and I'm not even sure I know exactly what I mean by that, but it seems right: I was transported.
Star was topless and in just her panties. Everything else was gone—the jean jacket, the boots, everything—except the panties and a black, chrome-studded collar.
Fuck, she was incredible. I got it now, why these dudes were all standing, cheering, and hooting—why the area surrounding the stage was shoulder-to-shoulder and nuts-to-butts with grown men, staring.
Star was hot as fuck. Her skin was flawlessly tanned, smooth and rich. The form of her body was perfectly feminine—a tight little hourglass figure. Her tits were fucking perfect. Fucking perfect. Just over a handful, each, with fat nipples. They barely jiggled. Those tits were like boners on her chest. Her legs were sleek and strong. She had beautiful inverted bowling pin calves. Her feet were even perfect, and I could give a shit about feet.
The best was her core. From her belly button to the top of her thighs, on both sides, was a fucking wet dream. The slopes and curves were smooth and compact. Fuck, her ass! I cursed and felt my mouth water when I saw it. Then, she turned around and those tiny panties accentuated that perfect nothing between her legs. This was a body built for fucking cock.
And she was a lesbian. I slowly shook my head in disbelief.
What made everything all the more insane was the fact that Star was exceptionally graceful. All the other dancers had skills, faces, and bodies, but Star up there, man, she had an athlete's strength and a ballet dancer's lightness. She was an academy award winner; the other's had been high school musical hacks. Weird, I know, saying this, but it wasn't just sexy, her dance. It was beautiful. The way she moved, it was artistic.
She took off her panties, and I drained my drink. I guess I ordered another one; I don't remember. It came to me, and I must have paid while I leered at my sister's perfect little pussy—and it was little. But, Star's was clean-shaven, as if there never in her life had been a single hair there.
Soon, she was laying on her tummy, legs spread toward the crowd, and both hands were under her, one held her pussy wide open, the other rubbed on her clit in little circles. Then, she slowly lifted her ass off the floor and, arching her back, pointed that perfect butt to the vaulted ceiling. She pulled her ass apart, airing out her little asshole, and gyrated her hips in circles.
Every fucker in the place was dreaming, as I was, of fucking her.
When her show ended, I walked over to the ATM and withdrew $400. It would hurt, but it wouldn't break us. I had, after all, just gotten paid.
I watched Star—Stella—walk up to the loft, organizing all the bills she had been handed during the course of her show. It was a fistful. It was a shit load.
I signaled to a bouncer and told him I wanted to go up. He escorted me to the top, and I paid $100 to get in. I asked to be seated in a corner table. They put me in a corner love seat with a small table in front.
Another gorgeous server—this one with miles of cleavage—came up to me, and I ordered my champagne. Hey, Esther, I thought, I'm going to be drinking wine, just like you asked. Champagne's made of grapes, right?
They brought it, and I paid $220 with the tip.
This was risky. I knew it. But, I couldn't stop myself. I had to see more of Star. I was addicted to the sight of her body, the way it moved.
Before this night, I'd known my sister was hot. I'd known it as her brother, though, which is different. It annoyed me; it didn't turn me on. I knew she had a nice body, but I didn't even care about it. Knowing my sister was hot was like knowing it was going to be a beautiful day in China—great...who cares? I ain't in China.
Now, I saw things differently.
I took a sip of the champagne and began to lament all of the opportunities I had missed as a younger man to sneak peeks at my sister. I wished I could go back in time.
More people came up behind me, and soon, the place was jam-packed. I scooted over for some asshole in a cowboy hat who laid a fan of fifties on the table in front of him.
Star saw it, caught the guy's eye, and he waved her over. Oh, fuck.
A bouncer followed Star. Cowboy Hat asked for a lap dance.
"Remember, no touching," Star told him, grinning. He handed her two fifties. She passed them to the bouncer and went to work.
She was topless, still, but her panties were back on. Star played her role well, asking his name, talking to him about his big cock—all the while grinding her body on his. She squashed her tits in his face. She put her feet on his shoulders, her hands on the table, and gave him an in-your-face pussy show. She rubbed her ass on every part of the guy. He gave her two fifties during and another one when she finished. She smiled, kissed him full on the lips, and moved on to the next customer.
When I put aside my jealousy over that kiss, I noticed that I had drunk about a third of the bottle during Star's show.
Cowboy Hat turned to me. "Sweet whores of Hell, that Stella is sexy! Don'tcha think, buddy? Don'tcha?"
I nodded.
He slugged down his own champagne, and I—not wanting to get too drunk—refilled his with my bottle.
"Hey! You're alright. Thanks, buddy!" He held his glass up and waited. I took mine and raised it. He roared, "To Stella's tits! They give me fits!"
He guffawed, and we drank. Before I set my glass down, he shook my sleeve and gestured for me to raise mine again.
He waited for me.
I said, "Uh, to Stella's ass—the best in class."
He laughed so hard that I started laughing. We drank.
I refilled our glasses. He raised his again, so I did, too.
He roared, "To Stella's cunny! Sweeter than honey, and it don't smell funny!"
He fucking lost it, slapping his knees and leaning into me. I drank, chuckling a little.
When he regained control, he asked, "You ever get a lap dance from her?"
I shook my head.
"Oh, hell, you gotta."
I raised my hand and rubbed my thumb against my fingers, shaking my head.
"No, no, no. Hell with that. You're getting one, buddy. I wanna watch," he grunted. "Hey, Stella!"
He was holding up two more fifties in the air. Star saw it, smiled, and walked over. Oh, shit. I tilted my hat lower and took a drink.
Not watching, I heard him yell, "Stella, this is for my buddy here. He said your ass was the best in the class." He guffawed. I heard Star giggle.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Was anything I wore a dead giveaway? I scanned my clothes. My arms? Would she recognize me? Oh, shit.
"What's your name, big boy?"
Would my voice give me away? I needed to respond, like, now. I made up a name, but totally fucking blew it. I was planning on saying "Hank," but at the last second decided on "Patrick." I said, "Hatrick." Fuck me.
Cowboy Hat spun toward me, "Your name is Hatrick, buddy?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Hatrick."
"I like it," Star cooed, "it's really unique." Star walked over and straddled my legs. "No touching, okay, Hatrick?"
I nodded. Hatrick. What a shit-for-brains.
Then, Cowboy Hat yelled, "Take off your Hatrick, Hatrick!" He swiped it off my head, and Star and I were looking at each other.
I was fucked. I saw her eyes take in my face. Recognition.
Fuck. Fucking mother fuck.
I sighed and stared at her. Her eyes went wide, and for a fraction of a second, there was fear.
I tried to give her a look that said, "Sorry?"
She glanced down at the ludicrous fake mustache and then back into my eyes. Star's eyebrows pinched together and rose up a little. Her lips quivered. She was about to start laughing.
I was going to laugh, too. I pressed my lips together and drew them sideways, tilting my head the same direction just a fraction.
Hatrick. Ridiculous.
Star scooted forward in my lap, turned toward Cowboy Hat, and said, "Ooh, I think Hatrick's got a big dick."
I was hard. Really hard. Had been for at least an hour. I was wearing jeans, so everything was all crowded, forced sideways, and squashed down there in my pants. But, despite her words, Star's crotch was nowhere near my cock. It was one of those things that strippers just said.
Suddenly, she stood up, backed away, pushed my knees apart, and knelt between them. She shoved me against the back of the couch and told Cowboy Hat that she needed to suck my cock.
She said, "I bet all kinds of girls have sucked on this cock." Then, she looked up at me with a smirk and winked.
You fucking little bitch, I thought.
Her head dove into my crotch.
There was no physical contact. It was all an act, but a good one. Her head bobbed and twisted, rose and fell. After a few seconds, she rose off me and slurped, wiping a line of drool from her lips and looking right at Cowboy Hat.
He handed her a fifty. She took it, blew him a slow, sensual kiss, and handed it to the bouncer. Then, she went back to work.
It was so stupid, really. Star was using me to get this idiot beside me to keep forking over the cash. She knew she could go a little bit further than usual because, hey, I was her brother.
That sounds fucked up, I guess, but I think it makes sense. I wasn't a danger to her is what I mean.
Cowboy Hat backhanded my shoulder and said, "She's something, eh, buddy?"
Payback time. "I've had better," I said.
Star stopped, looked up at me, and laid her left forearm across my lap. She turned to my neighbor and said, "Hatrick doesn't even know what a good blowjob feels like."
Cowboy Hat took one of her meanings; I took the other. Oh, Star, you fucking cunt. I am going to...
I didn't see her other arm slip between my legs. Nobody did, but my balls and the base of my cock were suddenly and painfully in her grip.
I turned to Cowboy Hat and said, urgently, "Just kidding, man. She's the best. Really. The best ever."
He nodded, smiling. "Oh, yeah, Hat-man!"
I felt Star's fingers relax, and then I felt something else.
Star began talking to Cowboy Hat, making him smile and laugh, but her fingers started—I don't know—checking me out, I guess. They gently gripped and released my balls, then the lower end of my cock, then further up the shaft, and finally her fingers slid over the tip. Then I felt her index and middle fingers, pressed together, start at the base and slowly glide along the entire shaft, like she was verifying what she'd just felt.
I gulped and stared down at her, but she was still talking to Cowboy Hat. Her hand slid away from between my legs and Star removed her forearm from across my lap. She looked up at me, eyes intent, mouth hanging open.
She grabbed my shirt and pulled me close. It was a show of ferocious horniness for Cowboy Hat. She pretended like she was sucking my neck. What she actually did was ask two questions in my ear.
"Is what's in those jeans a part of your idiotic disguise?" She pushed me back.
I shook my head.
She pulled me back to her. "Holy shit, brother mine," she said, "Me—your sister—I gave you that big fucking hard-on?" She pushed me away, watching my eyes.
I shrugged and nodded.
She stood up and pushed my legs together. Star sat on my lap, straddling me, and then she put her hands behind her, on my knees. She pushed herself up and put her feet on my shoulders. Turning to Cowboy Hat, she said, "I need my little pussy licked."
She thrust her crotch towards my face, and I watched Star's barely-covered pussy come at me, stopping short of my nose by fractions of an inch. She tilted her head back and began moaning at the ceiling. Her hips rolled in little circles, and I could smell her body. Sticking my tongue out less than an inch, I could have felt her pussy on the tip. But, I remained still.
Cowboy Hat liked the show. Star saw him, smiled, and said, "I like the feel of money on my tits."
So, the guy grabbed another one of his fifties, stood up and dragged the bill over Star's tits, which, even though Star's chest was almost horizontal, those tits were completely unfazed by gravity. They stuck up like two fat rockets.
He didn't touch her—only the bill did—and the bouncer was watching very, very closely. Star turned to Cowboy Hat and cooed, "I bet it would feel even better on my pussy." Then, Star tilted her head at me and said, "Can you slip my panties down, Hatrick? Just a little?"
I reach over the top of her legs, grabbed the tiny straps of her panties, and pulled them towards my face. The bouncer inched closer.
Before my view was blocked by a fifty dollar bill, my sister's bare pussy was three inches from my mouth. I smelled it, and my heart raced.
Suddenly, the back of Cowboy Hat's fucking hand was in my face, dragging that bill around my sister's crotch. I was annoyed.
"Leave it there, baby," she told him, and then she said, "Put my panties back, Hatrick." I drew her panties back over her pussy, trapping the bill between her panties and her skin. Then Star lifted her crotch up above my head for a moment, and her ass was right there before my eyes. When she came back down, the bill was gone. Bouncer swiped it, I guess.
She climbed off me and turned around, presenting her ass to me. She rolled it in circles a few inches from my face, and then looked at Cowboy Hat and said, "Some guys have told me that my asshole is too tiny and tight to fuck. Would you boys take a look and tell me what you think?"
Cowboy Hat sprang forward and grabbed another fifty. Star took it, handed it to the bouncer, and then dropped her panties in from of me. She reached back and pulled her ass apart, holding those tiny panties with one hand, arching her back, and leaning back towards my face.
I'm no connoisseur of women's assholes. I was much more interested in Star's pussy, but I liked what I saw.
She rose and turned around. "Well?"
I wanted to look annoyed by her, but my heart wasn't in it. I said, "It's perfect."
"Why, thank you, Hatrick!" she responded, adding a girlish giggle. She stepped over to Cowboy Hat and repeated the act.
I enjoyed the profile view of Star's legs, ass, and tits. When my eyes reached her head, I found her looking back at me. My face had to have been filled with burning desire. She smiled and then turned back to Cowboy Hat.
"What do you think, baby?" she asked him.
He licked his lips and responded, "Tight and tiny and teee-riffic!" He burst out in laughter, smacking my shoulder.
Star thanked him, kissed him, and walked away.
I poured the remains of my bottle in Cowboy Hat's glass, thanked him, grabbed my hat, and told him I was off to the bathroom.
He laughed, "Don't clog the drain with cum, Hat-man!"
I pissed and walked out of Centerfolds, not even looking at the new dancer on the main stage.
***
It was after midnight when I walked into our apartment. I was drunk, but not hammered. I went to the bathroom, used our alcohol-free mouthwash, and made sure I didn't smell like hell.
Esther was asleep.
Not for long, I hoped.
We hadn't fucked since before we moved to Boston. I was horny as hell from Star's show. I stripped naked and slid into bed.
Her back was to me, and I was already half hard. I scooted up against her, nuzzled through her hair into her neck and kissed her there, whispering, "Esther, will you let me? Can I put it in you?"
She stirred awake and rolled towards me. She said, "I've been so wrong, sweets. So wrong. It's like, my whole life has been a waste."
"What are you talking about, Ess?"
"I finished the book—your book you got me. And I can't believe it. I mean—I do...I do believe it. The Watchtower, the Elders, the Church, the whole thing. Good people. Beautiful people. My family! All of them slaves to the Church. None of them free. Faith should set you free, sweets, but the Watchtower enslaves people. God gave us free will and my whole life I've been giving it up the Them."
"You mean you're done with your Church? You don't want to be a Witness any more?"
"Never again. No."
"Esther, I'm sorry. I...I didn't know. I never should have gotten you..."
"Sweets, no! I'm glad you got me the book, don't you see?" she urged.
"You're okay?" I asked.
"I'm definitely not okay, but I might be starting to go there."
"Well...good, I guess."
She smiled, and she was so beautiful. I kissed her and reached up for her breasts.
She stiffened and pushed me away.
"Esther, what?"
"Not now. Not tonight."
"Please, Ess. I need you. Feel me." I reached for her hand, but she drew it away. "Hey!" I argued.
She looked angry when she spoke. This was like seeing Bigfoot, seeing Esther pissed. She said, "I'm starting a new life tonight. I'm not some toy for your penis anymore."
"What?!"
"That's what I've been, Sweets. That's the old me. That's the slave that I was. No more."
"What do you mean 'no more?'" I asked. "No more sex?"
"I don't know. But, not tonight. Not now."
"Ess, I love you. You can't...I'm your freaking husband..."
"...and I was your servant. Never your equal. I laid there and you...you buried that thing in my body over and over again, and I just took it, and you hurt me, and I never liked it."
I was floored. Without a word, I sat up and climbed out of bed. I snatched shorts from our dresser, hoisted them on, and strode out of the room.
I paced the kitchen, storming. I hurt her? I fucking hurt her?! Why the fuck didn't she ever tell me I hurt her?
And she never liked it? That was like saying she never liked me. Not liking my cock was like not liking the very essence of who I was.
Didn't she have orgasms? I thought she did. Was she faking it?
Why did I fucking marry her? What the fuck had I been thinking? Stupid fucking cunt.
I laid on the couch, a part of me shocked and guilt-ridden that I might have hurt her, another part of me thundering and raging, dreaming of going back in that room and impaling her with my dick.
I was never going to sleep.
But, somehow, I had. I woke up when the apartment door opened and Star came in. It was nearing 2:00am.
She threw her stuff on the kitchen counter and said, "Waiting up for me, Hatrick? Nice fucking name, by the way."
"No, and fuck off, Star. I don't want to talk about it."
She grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down on the lazy boy, curling her feet under her ass. She popped the top, took a long pull, and then farted. "What are you doing on the couch, then?" She burped.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Are you in a fight with Esther?" Then, Star gasped and said, "She found out where you were tonight!" She said it, sounding almost excited.
"No and no...well, yes and no."
"Yes to which one?"
"The fight. But, it's not a fight; it's an argument," I said.
Star nodded and took another drink. "I like Esther. You need to be nice to her."
"Star can we please not..."
She spoke over me. "You need to just let her win any argument that you have. That's what I would do."
"Thanks for the marital advice from a stripper," I mumbled.
Her beer can hit me on my nose, hard. Then it rolled over my chest, spilling ice-cold beer over my belly. I grunted, "Ow!" and seized the can, lifting it upright and leaping off the couch.
Star laughed at me. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a towel, wiping myself dry.
"Get me a fresh beer, Hatrick, you asshole."
I probably earned what I had gotten, so I grabbed her one and went back to the couch, blotting the few wet spots.
She cracked it and took a drink. "You know you deserved..."
"I deserved it," I finished. Then, I threw the towel on the floor and laid back down.
Star was across from me, and she looked clean. Not a shred of evidence of the night's work. She looked like she'd just come in from a night out with friends, except for the fact that she wore not a bit of make-up.
"Why did you come?" she finally asked.
I shrugged. "I had to know."
"What did you expect to see?"
"I don't know. I thought maybe you were a server or a bartender, but I had to find out."
"You could have asked."
I shrugged.
"So, why didn't you leave when I came out on the dance floor?"
I sat up. "Look, Star, at first it was like I was angry—not so much at you, but at the guys screaming at you and leering and stuff. I felt protective. I was watching them more than I watched you. It...they offended me, I guess."
"And then?"
"Well, I didn't expect it to be full-on nudity, Star. I've never been to a place like that. I'd been to topless and pasty places. I didn't expect it."
She looked at me doubtfully. "But, surely you didn't show up right when I came out. You saw the dancers before me."
"Yeah, I did. Three of them."
She nodded. "So?"
"So, when I saw you—when I really looked at you—I didn't want to stop looking. There. That good enough?"
She sighed and took a drink. Then, she said, "Why did you go to the loft?"
"Same."
"You had to have dropped at least $300 to go up there. How much did you spend tonight?"
"About $450."
"I figured."
"How much did you make tonight?"
"About $3,000."
"Are you shitting me?"
She shook her head. "I pulled in about $5,000, but we always give a percentage to the staff."
"So, in a weekend, you're making, like six?"
She nodded. "Bad weekends, say, about three grand. Good weekends about eight. Great ones? I've had one where I made more than ten thousand in one night."
"Holy shit, Star."
"I know."
"And are you...I mean, to make that, do you have to...?"
"No. I would never, ever do that. Some girls do. I don't. I don't care what they pay me."
I sat back.
She continued, "What you saw was as far as I go."
"How much did you make off the cowboy hat guy tonight?"
"Him alone, probably close to $900, maybe a thousand."
I shook my head in wonder. She took another drink.
"When did you start?"
She smiled. "About eight months after I moved here. A work friend had a party at her place—not too far from here, actually. I saw how nice it was, and I knew I had to make more money. My old commute from Watertown took me an hour on the T—number 71 bus to Harvard Square, Red Line to Park, Green Line to Longwood. I hated it. Anyways, I dated a girl who knew how much exotic dancers could make, so I started looking for places. I knew I could do it, watched a couple of videos. On Amateur Night at Centerfolds, I went on stage and killed. They hired me after I left the stage."
"So, what? Two years you've been doing it?"
She nodded and downed the rest of her beer. She belched and said, "Nice disguise tonight."
"When I had the hat on, I was okay."
"You were okay," she admitted. "What the hell kind of name is Hatrick? Did you mean, like, a hat trick? Like in hockey?"
"No," I said, and I explained my flub. She laughed at me and got up to grab another beer. I watched her body, remembering.
She bent over, leaning into the fridge, and I asked, "So, you just watched a few videos and figured you could do it?"
She called back to me, "If you know how to fuck and know what guys like, it's not that hard." Then, she started gyrating her ass while she rooted around in the fridge.
Memories from the night flooded my mind.
"See?" she said, rising with a beer and a cosmic brownie.
I nodded and she came back to the couch.
I was only wearing long basketball-style shorts. They were white with black stripes on the sides. I had no underwear on underneath them and no shirt. I had nothing to hide the boner that was slowly filling and growing. Thinking about it only made it harder. I crossed my hands in my lap while Star sat down and cracked her third beer.
She glanced at my lap, and then took a drink. Then, she engulfed her brownie in, like, two bites.
My cock kept extending. Go down, I thought, go away. But, the head of my growing cock began to push against the back of my wrist. I let the tip slide under and pushed it down toward my thigh. But, the contact with my body felt good. It was exactly the kind of warm friction that my cock was begging for. It began to extend down my leg.
Star looked at me and said, "So, I guess you liked what you saw tonight?"
"Star, don't. It's embarrassing."
"Will you get me another cosmic brownie?" she asked, suddenly.
I gulped. "Why? I'm comfortable."
She dropped the pretense. "Show me. Come on," she said, and then she leaned to the side and farted. "I know you're trying to hide it."
"Hide what?"
"Your boner. You've got one," she said, gesturing towards me with the beer can. "No guy ever sits like that."
"I'm not getting up."
Star laughed at me. "You can't shut off the light because you'd have to get up and show me. You can't roll on your belly because I'd still see. So, you're just going to wait for it to go down?"
I shrugged.
She continued, "But, you're forgetting something."
"What?"
"You're a boy, and I'm a girl, and I have complete control over you."
I sneered. "Yeah, right."
"No, look: the minute it starts going down, all I have to do is stand up and stretch a little, show you some cleavage, pick something up off the floor in front of you, and you're hard again."
I began to respond.
She waved me off. "I don't even have to get up, really. I could just sit here and grab my tits. Or, no! I don't even have to do that. I could just talk to you. I could tell you about my pussy or talk about sucking cock, and you'd be hard again."
I sighed.
She smiled. "So, you see, brother mine, I've got you by the cock—so to speak."
"Why? Why do you want to see?"
She tilted her head side to side a few times and said, "Maybe some of the same reasons that you looked at me. I'm not the only one with good genes in this family, and...I don't know...I made a discovery earlier tonight about you. I want to see. Besides, it's only fair. You saw every inch of me."
"I'm not dropping my shorts, Star."
She shook her head. "I didn't ask you too."
I stood and put the tent in my shorts on full display.
Star stared at it for a few moments, and then she scooted forward in her chair, looked me in the eyes, and said, almost whispering, "The shorts, too, please."
I was about to protest, but I didn't want to. I wanted her to look at me. Fuck, I was hard.
I lifted the elastic band over the tip and down to my thighs. She looked for what felt like a long time, and then she smiled up at me. "Sit down," she whispered, and I did.
Something in her smile was different. Star got up from her chair and slowly walked over in front of me. She glanced down at my cock, and then she turned around and pulled down her pants and panties, together. Damn, her ass was incredible.
"Star..." I began, but I stopped when she moved.
Her bare ass lowered onto my thighs, and she scooted backward until her lower back was pushing my cock into my stomach and her ass was on my scrotum.
Then, she farted. It was loud and airy. It sounded like a snippet of a motorcycle, gunning it.
She jumped off me, laughing and yanking her shorts up.
"Aw, sick!" I yelled. I grabbed for her, but she was out of reach.
She sped behind the kitchen counter. I shot up and yanked my shorts over my cock, darting toward her. Star's hands were on the counter and she crouched, prepared to go either way around it to flee.
I stopped. It was no use, chasing her. We'd wake up Esther, anyways.
Star was almost tearful with laughter, whispering, "I farted on your balls!"
"I'm going to kill you, Star," I warned her, but I was laughing too. "My balls felt the blast of air, you know. Fucking sick."
Star threw her head back in rapturous, though mostly silent, laughter.
I collapsed on the couch, and she, seeing no threat, came back to the chair. The feel of Star's ass on my thighs lingered. Fuck, it felt good—smooth, tight, and warm.
She said, "So, was your fight with Esther—I'm sorry, your argument—about sex?"
I shrugged.
"Let me guess," she went on, "you wanted to fuck, and she wasn't in the mood. You got pissy and came out here to show her how mad you were."
"No...well, yes. Sort of. You make it seem like I was being a little pansy about it. It wasn't like that, and I don't want to talk about it, okay? Quit fucking asking me." The last words came out with real bitterness and anger.
Star's smile vanished. "Is it serious?"
"Fuck, yes, it is."
"I'm sorry."
I sat there in silence. The mood was killed, and my cock began to fall. I thought about Esther and how I might have hurt her. I thought about how she'd never liked it when I fucked her, and these ideas made me absolutely sick to my stomach.
When I looked up, Star had tears in her eyes.
"Star..."
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know." Her head fell to her chest, and she wept, trembling. Her skin turned pink and splotchy.
I went over to her. "Star, no. It's not...I'm not angry at you. Please don't cry." I rubbed her back. She leaned into me, crying. Fuck.
Her voice wavered when she said, "I knew she was unhappy. She told me what happened with her church. I just...I'm sorry."
She wasn't drunk. She was just...Star. It was so her: spontaneously playful and raunchy, spontaneously sweet and innocent. None of it was an act. She was really broken up.
"Want me to carry you to your room?" I asked.
She looked up at me and nodded, sniffing and wiping her eyes. "Okay."
As kids, whenever we got in a fight or when she was sad, I could always make amends or make her feel better by carrying her. Weird, I know, but that's my sister.
I picked her up. She put her arm around me and watched me as I took her into her room and laid her in bed. She smiled when I pulled the sheets and blankets over her and tucked her in.
"Good night, Star," I said.
"I love you, brother mine." So often, those words—brother mine—came out from her sarcastically or condescendingly. This time she sounded fond and loving.
I nodded, glancing at her rainbow unicorn poster. Then, I shut off the light and went back to the couch to think, and maybe, sleep.
***
When I woke up, I was on the thick rug on the floor of the living room—the couch was way too soft for me. It was 7:30 or so; I wasted no time. I went into our bedroom, showered, dressed, and left. I needed space and time. Esther may have been awake when I was dressing, but I really didn't know.
I jumped on the Green Line and went up to near the Public Gardens. I walked around the pond, thinking. I crossed the street and walked around the Common. Then, I went into the Dunkin Donuts up near the State House and grabbed a couple of chocolate glazed and a Coke. I ate them as I walked back through the Common and the Public Gardens. Eventually, I started walking down the promenade on Comm Ave, checking out the statues every block or so. Shit, it was a beautiful morning.
By the time I had crossed over to the Fens, I figured I would just stroll all the way back home. The whole trip took a little over two and a half hours, and I got a lot of thinking done.
I started with the basic premise that I would leave Esther, and probably divorce her, depending on a few factors. She wants her freedom from my so-called slavery? Fine, it's yours, Ess. You're free. Go fuck yourself.
And just how was she a slave? I didn't make her do anything. I didn't ask her to keep house at the apartment. I didn't ask her to cook, clean, and do laundry. She just grabbed those jobs. I thanked her all the time for it, too. I complimented her cooking. I told her how much I appreciated coming home to a fresh, clean place. If she had told me she wanted to get a job, I would have said, "Go for it, Ess." I really, really resented the idea that she felt like she was my slave. I hadn't done anything to make her feel that way.
The sex thing made me even more pissed. Esther had made it sound like I was basically raping her. What did she say? She was a toy for my cock or something? And that my cock was a "thing" that I stuck in her over and over again? Made it sound like I had her tied up in some fucking dungeon. And didn't she say that she hated it and that I had hurt her?
Damn.
What a horrible thing to say to your husband.
Still, I admit I second-guessed myself. Did I not know how to fuck? Was I putting it in the wrong hole or something? Of course, I wasn't. And, she never complained. Well, that's not true. Our wedding night was a rough one for her. We fucked five times. She never told me to stop or anything, but she was just kind of a rag doll on the last three. The next day, she was awfully sore—stayed in bed all day.
But, I cared for her. I made her soup and crackers. I brought her ice. Gave her a long back rub.
How embarrassing, then, to realize that I actually sucked at fucking my wife? How sickening that I was somehow hurting her every time? How maddening that she never said anything about it until now? Come on, Ess! What the fuck? You gotta say something.
I guess she had, finally.
It was that book, that fucking book, that did this to her, changed her.
I walked past the Longwood T-stop, two minutes from the door to our apartment. Fuck it. I jumped back on the T and made my way back to Harvard Square. I went into the Coop bookstore, and I found another copy of Esther's book. It took me a while because I didn't see it in the Self-Help section. A worker helped me find it in the Religion section.
Now, I could have, very easily, went back home, snatched the book off Esther's nightstand and taken a look there. Problem was, I was too pissed to even look at her.
I wandered around until I found an empty chair, and I sat down and started reading the book.
Yeah, I know: I was reading a book.
I remained in the Coop for more than four hours that day, reading. My eyes were actually sore. It was a workout for them.
But, I was glad I did it. I began to see how this little book might have rocked Esther's world.
One thing that surprised me was how the author took pains to talk about many of the really good things that Jehovah's Witnesses do and have done. There were a ton. These were kind of amazing people.
But, man, was the leadership screwed up.
The most powerful stuff came from the interviews and stories of ex-members, even ex-leaders. This was about conformity and mind-control. It was so un-American. The Watchtower was a bunch of passive-aggressive Nazis in their attitude towards dissent.
There were stories of sex abuse that made me want to puke. Women were like second-class citizens, at best, and sometimes, more like slaves. When I finally shoved the book back in the shelf, I was ready to go home.
Fuck. I knew what I had to do. I didn't really want to, but I knew I should.
I picked up a card and a box of chocolate-covered almonds—her favorite—and took the T back home.
On the way, I borrowed a pen from a guy and wrote a note on the card. I hated every word that I wrote.
Esther,
I'm sorry if I hurt you. Anything you need, just tell me and we can work it out. I love you and never, ever want you to feel like a servant. You're my princess. I'll try to do better.
Then, I put a P.S. at the bottom, telling her that I went to the bookstore and read her book to page 89.
I know. It took me four fucking hours to read 89 pages.
***
I walked into the apartment to find Esther and Star in deep conversation around the kitchen table. Their heads were maybe a foot apart. Star's hand was gently rubbing Esther's back, and both of them looked tearful when they glanced over at me. Esther's eyes looked deeply sad and forlorn. Star's seemed tender and sympathetic.
I needed to be a fucking pussy, so I said, "Hey, I don't mean to interrupt. You two need me to go?"
Star glanced at Esther; Esther shook her head.
I walked to her and said, "Got something for you." I laid the chocolates and the card in front of her and stepped back.
Star's hand went to her heart, and she looked at me proudly. This was, I reminded myself, the same girl who farted on my balls the previous evening.
I said, "Excuse me," and left for the bathroom. I don't want to hang around there like some dickface, waiting for applause or some shit.
When I came out, Esther was at the threshold of our bedroom. She gave me a tentative smile, standing at the threshold of our bedroom. I went to her.
I closed the door behind us, and she turned to me. "You read my book? Some of it?"
I nodded. "I didn't know, Ess. I didn't understand. I think I do now, though, a little bit."
She stepped to me and hugged me, crying again. Then, she pulled back, and wiping her eyes, said, "I shouldn't have said some of the things I said last night. I'm sorry, too."
I nodded and extended my hand to her. She took it. I said, "You're still my girl?"
That was not the thing to say. She let go of my hand. "You don't own me."
"That's not what I meant. Come on." I glanced down at her chest, and I could see the hint of her nipples. "Whatever you need, Ess. Anything."
"I just need time to think."
"Well, if you need to think out loud, I'm here for you. You can talk to me." I said these things, knowing it was the right thing to do, but I hated myself for it. It felt weak to me. I felt like I should have ripped her ass for saying I'd enslaved her. Bullshit, bitch.
But, damn it, Esther was so freaking fragile. I couldn't make her feel even worse.
She was wearing a plain white tee-shirt, and I was staring at her tits. I wondered, like I had a thousand times before, if I could fuck them—if they'd be big enough to grip my dick. Maybe, I decided.
She'd been silent for a few seconds, and I looked up at her face. It looked like she'd been watching me stare at her boobs.
She said, "Do you care if I go out and get some air?"
I shook my head, glancing down at her tits, again. If she held them towards the sloping end—nearer the nipple—I bet I could fuck them. "Want to be alone?" I asked.
She nodded. "I just need time to think, okay?"
I looked at her bare neck, and I wondered what it might look like with a pool of cum on it. Maybe a little on her face, too. What would she say, I wondered, if I told her to wrap her tits around my dick? I guess I had no idea. Not anymore. She was like someone else now. But, I liked her sloping tits.
I looked up at her and said, "Okay."
"Thanks for understanding, sweets."
I actually didn't like it when she called me "sweets." I fucking hated it. I'd have rather she called me "Fuckhead." Thanks for understanding, Fuckhead.
Of course, I'd never tell her to stop. She liked it. It was her a little thing, and it made her happy to have a pet name for me. I took it.
I went out to watch tv on the couch. Esther changed her clothes and left.
Star came out of her room after the door closed. She walked right beside me and dragged a fingernail across my forehead.
"Hey!" I complained, sitting up and staring at her.
She sat on her chair, looking at me through her phone. Star used her fingers to zoom in a little.
"Star, what the fuck?" I felt something on my head.
She took a picture.
I felt my forehead, and something stuck to my finger. I brought my hand down and looked.
It was a booger. She'd wiped a booger on my forehead.
"Shit!" I shrieked, frantically shaking the fucker off my hand.
Star was laughing hysterically.
The thing finally came off, and I stood up, menacingly, fists ready.
She laid back in her chair and curled her legs up, feet ready. She was going to fend me off with kicks. Still holding the camera, she giggled, "You've got to see this picture."
She looked so stupid curled up like that, but damn, she had spirit. I relented and sat down, chuckling, "You're fucking disgusting. I'm going to shit in your bed."
Without a second's delay, she responded, "Then, I'm going to stuff it in your wallet."
The image of her doing just that made me lose it. She would have done it, too. Star had no limits.
She rocked forward in her chair and stretched her camera to me. I took it and looked, and I started laughing even harder.
My face was the whole screen, and there on my forehead—clearly—was a booger. It could not have been mistaken for anything else. This was a picture of a guy, looking irritated, with a giant grayish-green booger on his forehead. It was a picture of a douchebag.
I was holding my stomach and whooping with laughter. I was cackling so hard it hurt.
I feel bad for people who don't have a sister like mine.
When the laughter died down, I said, "Alright, tell me what the fuck you did that for."
"Because," she said, "you're a booger-head."
"But, why?"
She got serious. "I was talking to Esther—I love her, by the way—and we kind of starting talking about sex, and she told me how she felt."
Son of a bitch. "My wife is talking to you about our sex life? That's what your little head-to-head was at the table when I came in?"
She nodded. "And you're a booger-head."
"Why?"
"Because your job is to make her happy, and you're not doing it."
"You don't know shit. Why would she talk to you about it?"
"She needed someone, and she knew I would listen and help."
"And I wouldn't? Besides, she doesn't ever talk about sex, Star."
"Well, I don't know about before, but she does now."
I shook my head, pissed. "And it's all a big secret, I suppose, right? You girls have your sex secrets?"
"No. She even told me I could talk to you."
"What? So you're Doctor fucking Phil, now? Fuck that. I'll talk to Esther about it, myself."
"Talk to me first. I can help you both. I want to help."
"Alright, what? What do you want to know?"
"How do you do it? What do you do before you put it inside her?"
I shook my head. "We kiss. I feel her body. I take off our clothes. We kiss some more. I feel her tits, sometimes suck on them a little. Then, I feel her pussy, and if it feels ready, then I get between her legs. She spreads them wide, and we fuck."
"Is she wet when you put it in?"
"Of course she is, Star."
"Just asking," she responded. "I know you guys don't do oral, but do you finger her or anything?"
"I...she is against that—her religion. She doesn't want to be fingered. I can only, like, feel or finger her to see if she's ready. That's one of the rules."
"And she doesn't do it to you?"
"No. I mean, she's grabbed it, but more to like, line me up properly, you know?"
"Geez."
"Star!"
"Okay, okay, is she really wet when you put it in?"
"I don't know. Yes? She isn't dry."
"You stuck your fingers up inside her, though?"
"One."
"Just one? Why?"
"It didn't seem like two would fit, I guess."
"But, then you stuck your cock in her?" she asked, shocked, like I was a fucking idiot.
When she asked that question, I actually did feel like a fucking idiot.
She shook her head at me, and then asked, "How wet is she? On your finger?"
"I don't know."
"That's a question mark, then."
"Star, I just...you know I've got no basis for comparison here, right?"
"Poor little bro," she said, smiling sadly.
"Shut the fuck up."
"What does she do when you put your dick inside her? Does it look like it hurts her?"
"She moans."
"In pain?"
"I didn't think so, but I don't know anymore."
Star asked, "Does she make a lot of noise?"
"Yes."
"The whole time or just at the end?"
"The whole time."
"Is she in pain?"
"I don't fucking know anymore, Star!"
"Okay. Alright. Calm down."
"Yesterday, I would have said no."
Star rolled her fingers in a circle—come on, come on. "What does she sound like?"
I thought about it. "I don't know. She howls, I guess."
Star waited for more.
"Like a wolf at the moon or something," I finished.
Star raised an eyebrow and said, "You mean she sounds like this?" Then, Star howled like a wolf—a long, lonely cry. It was a pretty accurate rendition. And it was ridiculous. No human had ever made that sound during sex. I immediately started laughing.
"No, okay. Not like a wolf at the moon."
Star, laughing, too, said, "Well, you're the dumbass that said it. So, how does she actually sound?"
"Like a wolf, but in shorter bursts." I made little "A-ooh" sounds.
Star raised her hand to stop me. "Are you sure she's not saying, 'Ow! Ow!' dumbass?"
Fuck, was she? I'd never thought of it that way before. I started rubbing my forehead and eyes with my fingers, and I said, humbly, "I don't know."
Star sighed. "Well, there's another question mark."
"But she gets louder," I said, making little mountains in the air with my hand. "It builds up and then comes down after, like we both hit our peak and then it ends."
"She's coming?"
"Yes. She's noisy."
"Have you ever asked her if she came?"
"We don't talk about sex. We have sex." When Star gave me a look, I argued, "Star, I've seen pornos. The girls are noisy. Ess does what they do, basically."
"Your idea of how women cum is from watching porn?"
I looked off towards a window and sighed, impatiently. "I don't have any other basis for comparison."
"Maybe that's another question mark."
I probably looked like I was really pissed off at that moment. I was thinking about Esther and I never talking about sex. I was thinking about my total lack of experience. I was wondering how I ever got in this position—getting cross-examined on my sex life by my older sister. And I was also realizing that, damn it, Star was making me see things differently. Maybe I was really hurting my wife.
I glanced up at Star, and her look had compassion in it, like she felt for me.
It helped, but not much.
She said, "Can I ask you a few more questions?"
"Go ahead."
"Would you say she's small down there? Tight?"
I shook my head at Star, trying to remind her that I just didn't know. Esther's pussy was the only one I knew. How the fuck could I tell? "Star, I just...her pussy feels tight and good. Don't they all?"
"You said you've seen pornos," she responded. "Is Esther's like theirs, size-wise?"
"Of course not. Esther's no whore."
Star burst out in laughter. "Oh, brother mine, you think a pussy is like an old catcher's mitt or something? No! It's elastic. It stretches out, but it always stretches back. It may change a little, but not anything like what you're thinking."
"Okay, I'll take your word for it."
She looked right at me for a second, and then her eyes went to the ground. Star looked like she was thinking hard about something. Suddenly, she stood up. "Come on," she sighed, walking toward her bedroom door.
I got up.
She stood in the doorway. "Come on, dumbass!"
I followed her.
She closed the door behind me and then sat me on the end of the bed. Standing in front of me, she slid down her pants.
"Uh. What the hell..." I began.
"We're not getting anywhere because your stupid ass never got laid and never took the time to learn how women really work."
She pulled down her underwear. This was the third time in less than 24 hours I'd seen my sister strip in front of me.
I raised my hand: stop. "Star, you'd better not be about to pull one of your stupid little jokes, right now."
"I'm not. Feel it," she said, looking down at her pussy.
I stared at it, and then at her.
She said, "Look, I know you like my body. Most guys do. It's okay. You're my brother, not my girlfriend. This will be like going to the doctor for me. I'm sure you can handle this, so just do it. You need a comparison. I need to know what Esther's is like if I'm going to help you."
She moved closer and put her hands on my shoulders. I reached between her legs, felt the heat, and touched her pussy. I ran my index finger over the labia, tracing the outline. I slid it between, crossing her clit and just dipping inside her opening. She was wet. I looked up at her.
She said, "I get a little wet talking about sex. It's no big deal. This is like my version of a boner. My body responds. That's all."
I traced it again, a little more firmly this time, and then pushed inside her to the first knuckle.
"Well?" she asked.
My voice was hoarse and airy. "You're wetter than Esther."
"That answers one question because I'm not all that wet right now."
I looked up at her, stunned.
She shook her head. "I'm not." Then, she asked, "What about size?"
I swallowed. "Could you let me see it better?"
Star let go of my shoulders, stepped around me, and laid on the bed beside me, knees up, and legs spread. I turned around and knelt on the floor between her legs, looking. Staring, really.
My voice still wasn't right. "I can't really tell."
Star's head propped up, and she said, "What?"
"I haven't had many opportunities to get this kind of view of her, Star. I mean, it looks about the same size as hers, I guess. Are you small?"
"Smaller."
"Maybe hers is a little smaller than yours."
"Put your finger all the way in."
I hesitated.
"Just do it. Doctor's office, okay?"
I nodded. I slid my hand forward on the bed between her legs, and I spread her lips with my fingers, pushing my middle finger inside her. Shit! I looked at Star. "You're not all that wet right now?"
She said, "I'm getting wetter, okay?" After a few seconds, she added, "I'm actually getting really wet now."
I pushed my finger all the way in. Her pussy hugged it, and all I could think about was what it might feel like on my cock. I drew back and pushed in again. Holy shit.
Star pushed herself up to sitting, and I withdrew my finger.
"Well?" she asked, and her voice sounded a little funny, too.
"Esther's is tighter than yours."
"Really?"
I nodded.
"Okay, I guess that answers another question."
She stood up and I did too, pulling my shirt over my erection. Star glanced at it. Then, she went over and put on her panties and shorts, bending her tight little body in half. There was that ass again. I wished I could fuck Esther from behind.
Star turned to me and said. "To really make sure, I probably need to see yours again."
I looked at her. Was this one of her tricks? I'd forgotten what living with her was like, and now that I'd been burned a few times, I wasn't about to let my guard down.
"Come on, let's get this over with," she said.
"You're not fucking with me?"
"No."
I lifted my shirt and pulled my jeans down over one of the hardest boners I'd ever had. Star walked over and knelt in front of me, and my cock began to flex.
She looked up at me and said, "Stop that." Her face was a foot from my cock.
"I can't."
She began to reach for it, and I backed away, gasping. "Star, I can't. You...I haven't fucked Esther in three weeks. This fucking thing is ready to explode. You touch it, and it's going to go off. You breathe on it funny or, shit, even seeing you stare at it might send me over the top, okay?"
"Really?"
"Really."
She sighed. "Go jerk off in my bathroom. Get it out. Go."
"No, I'm not doing that."
"Why?"
"I don't jerk off," I said, flatly.
"What? Why not?"
"I'm married."
Still on her knees, she stared up at me like I was ridiculous. "What, you think you're cheating on Esther with yourself?"
"No, not..."
"Cheating on her with your hand?"
"Star! No, that's not what I mean. Why the fuck are always twisting around my...?"
"Well, then what the hell do you mean?"
I stared at her for a beat. "As a married man, I have a wife to take care of my needs." When she gave me a look, I clarified, "Take care of each other's needs, okay? Better? Bottom line, I shouldn't have to jerk off ever again for the rest of my life."
"But, what about when you're apart?"
"I'm not a nymphomaniac, Star. I can handle a few days."
"No, I mean, what if she's gone for three months to take care of a sick relative or something?"
"That doesn't count. I might do it, then."
"But you won't do it now?"
"No."
"Doesn't it feel good?"
"Of course, it does."
"Well, what's your problem then, idiot?" she asked, her voice rising.
"It looks stupid."
"You're not doing it in public!"
"No...I feel stupid. I think about how I look."
"Nobody is looking!"
"Star!" I yelled. "Fuckin-a, you can be a stupid bitch. Look, I've seen pornos, and they always do it. The guys, I mean. They always jerk off at the end and cum on the girl's face or her tits or whatever. Or, they do it before they stick it in her, and they look like fucking idiots. A guy, stroking his own dick, looks like a douchebag."
"I agree that it isn't the sexiest thing in the world, but..."
"See? That's why. I don't want to feel like I look like a douchebag."
"Even though nobody is looking? I won't look."
"Yes. Even when I know no one is looking. I see it, myself, you know? I picture myself, and I look like a fucking douchebag, so I don't unless I absolutely have to."
She shook her head. "Fuck, you're stubborn, you know that?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
She said, "And this isn't some stupid-ass trick of yours to get me to do it for you?"
I smirked at her. "Fuck, no."
She stood up. "Come on, then."
"Where are we going?"
"To the bathroom, so I can get a look at you and not have cum all over my bedroom floor."
I pulled up my jeans. "No way. This is a trap. You're going to do something. I know you."
"I'm not. Come on."
I waited. "Swear it, Star."
"You really think that I would..."
I fixed my eyes on her, and she quit talking. Very slowly, and with a long pause between each word, I said, "Swear it."
When you're as close as Star and I once were, a look in the eyes, a tone of voice, any one of those little bits of communication can carry deeper, more significant messages. I just sent one to her, and she heard me. My message was a reminder of an event, six years ago, where I had shown her great loyalty.
Her face took on a look of utmost gravity, and she calmly said, "I swear."
We went into the bathroom together.
She stood beside me and said, "I'm just going to look at it and get a sense of it. I may touch it. If you feel like something is going to happen, just aim for the toilet." She bent over and lifted the fluffy pink toilet seat. "There," she said.
Right. I guess if you're a girl, you can have a fuzzy ring around your toilet seat. You're never going to accidentally piss on it like a guy would.
"Okay," she said, "Let's see."
I took off my shirt and lowered my jeans. My cock jutted out from me, angled up.
Star's eyes narrowed, and she took in my hard-on from a few vantage points before squatting. She held my hips and turned me towards her.
"So?" I said, quietly.
"Hang on," she said, and her fingers lightly grasped the head and pivoted it around.
I took in a sharp breath and looked up at the ceiling.
"Is this normal?" she asked. "Are you usually this...ready?"
"It's normal."
She whispered, "Definitely not normal." It was so quiet that I almost didn't hear her. She wrapped her hand around it, and I dropped about three curses.
She said, "Easy, big fella."
I gulped. "So?" I asked again, and I didn't recognize my own voice.
"It's what I saw last night and what I thought I felt at the club."
Her grip tightened, but held still. I was breathing slowly and heavily.
She continued, "I've got to say that, if Esther is smaller than me, and she's not wet enough, then this would not feel good at all going in." She looked up and me, and I looked down at her.
I nodded. "Okay."
Her attention returned to my cock, casually inspecting it. "I haven't felt one of these in a long time," she muttered to herself, and she let out a small burst of laughter.
She very, very slowly pulled the skin up the shaft and let it back. I covered my mouth and held my breath.
"You forget," she went on, "how cool it is to just have total control of a guy's pleasure. It's really sexy, actually." Her voice was soothing.
She stroked me again; her grip was strong, and the movement, achingly slow. After she let the skin slide back, she released it.
I thought it was over, but she turned my hips toward the sink and drew me to the basin. The tops of my thighs pressed against the front edge of the counter.
She stood up, saying, "That thing won't bend down and point into the toilet. The sink is better."
She maneuvered behind me, close, her body against mine. I looked ahead in the mirror and saw Star lean out from behind my left side, reach around my back with her right hand, and take my cock in her fingers. She watched herself stroke me in the mirror.
I felt one of her nipples through her shirt on my lower back. I saw the other one poking against the fabric on her chest where she was leaning out from behind me, gazing at my cock in the mirror.
Her other hand was on my left hip. It curled around and began to explore the muscles of my tummy.
My balls tingled and grew warm. The sensation swept from there through my body, and when it hit my brain, I almost felt dizzy.
"Star," I huffed, "Oh, shit, that's good. Oh, shit."
"Let it out," she said, stroking more rapidly. "Cum for me."
I watched my cock throb in her little, sleek fingers. In the mirror, Star's eyes were fixed on the tip of my cock. Her mouth gaped. Her left hand clutched my belly.
Blood filled my muscles and they all flexed together when the first burst sailed out. It hit the back of the sink. The rest streamed out, less like it was pulsing and more like a continuous flow. It happened like that when I was backed up. It was like I was pissing cum. The flow leaped out about six or so inches from the tip and plummeted down towards the drain. This lasted a few seconds before the last few globs seeped out of the tip and dripped down.
All of that energy-filled blood seemed to race out of me, and I gasped for my breath as Star let me go.
Her face looked flushed, and she was breathing deeply. We looked at each other in the mirror, and she gave just the tiniest hint of a smile. It disappeared as quickly as it came. "Better?" she asked, almost formally.
I nodded.
She edged me aside and began splashing water on the drips and pools of cum to get it to move towards the drain. I watched her use her fingers on a few places to break the fluid's grip on the porcelain. Soon, the sink was clean, and Star washed her hands.
I pulled up my jeans and then found my shirt and put it on.
Star turned to me. "I'm going to talk to Esther when she gets back. Tell her what I think."
"Okay."
"I'd like to see her vagina, though."
I might have laughed, but Star was serious. "Ess would never, in a million years, show you her pussy."
"Sure she will. I'm only trying to help."
"Star, Esther loves you. No shit. I mean, after what happened with her church, you're really the only family she's got anymore besides me. But, still, she's not going to let you check out her stuff."
"The lesbian thing?" Star asked.
"Yes. She loves you, but she doesn't agree with that lifestyle. She's been taught that since she first learned about sex."
"I think she trusts me, and I know I can help. It isn't sexual."
I said, "Okay, say she does let you. You're not going to derive any pleasure from checking her out down there?"
She shrugged. "If Star wasn't your wife, I'd be after her. No shit. But, she is, so I won't. Doctor's office."
I eyed her suspiciously.
She said, "Fine. Watch us, then."
I stared at her.
"I'm serious," she said, "Hide out and...and supervise me if you're so worried."
"Star, I trust you. I know you're trying to help. But, I also think you kind of want this. Don't tell me you're not going to enjoy it a little."
"Then watch us and see for yourself, brother mine."
"Where?"
"My room. Here."
I hesitated.
She argued, "You're not going to get caught. You watch and make sure I don't get swept away by my lesbian passions." She said this, and it was dripping with sarcasm. "When it's all over, I'll cover for you. You'll leave and come back. She won't know any better."
"She's never going to let you do it, but okay, I will," I said.
"Good. When she gets back, I'll tell her that you went to a movie."
An hour later, I was back in Star's bathroom, goofing around on my phone and waiting for Esther's return. Any evidence that suggested I was still home—keys, wallet, etc.—I gathered up and kept with me.
Then, Esther returned. I went to Star's bedroom door and listened.
Esther and Star greeted one another, and Star explained my absence. Then, she said, "I was just about to pour myself a glass of wine. Would you like some?"
Esther said, "Oh, no, I don't drink."
Star, I thought, you dumbass. Didn't you know Witnesses don't drink?
"I usually don't either, but a friend of mine told me about this wine, and I love it. It tastes good, and I just feel so relaxed when I have a glass. Are you sure?"
I didn't hear a response, but I already knew: Esther was shaking her head, no.
"Could I just try a sip?" I heard my wife respond.
What the hell?
"Sure, here." I heard Star pull a glass out of a cabinet. A few seconds later, Star said, "Wait, you should have a little cheese before."
"Why?"
"Gets your tastebuds ready for the grapes."
The fridge and a drawer opened and closed. I peeked through the crack in the door. Star was in the kitchen. Esther was across the counter from her, on a barstool. Star handed a chunk of pale yellow cheese to Esther and took one, herself. They ate.
"Good?"
"Yeah, what kind is it?"
Star said, "Aged gouda. Smells funny, but it's good."
"I like it."
Star handed Esther a glass of red wine with just a sip in the bottom. Star raised hers and said, "To trying something new."
Esther said, "To trying something new." Then my wife took a drink of wine.
"What do you think?" Star asked.
"Oh, that's very good!" Esther said, and her enthusiasm was genuine.
"More?"
"Okay."
Star poured Esther a full glass, and then cut several chunks of cheese. Then, she fetched a box of crackers, pulled out a stack and laid them on the cutting board between her and Star.
Esther said, "You know what we were talking about the other day? About my old church?"
"Yes?"
"I was thinking that today for, like, the first time that I don't miss it. I mean, I actually feel like I might be a normal person."
"You are normal!" Star protested.
Esther shook her head. "We didn't know each other in high school, but I was the weirdo church-girl. The other kids avoided me like I was a leper. Your brother, well—you already know—he was the first boy who ever treated me like a human being, made me laugh like I was a friend."
Here, Esther started crying, and, fuck me, Star did, too. Neither of them were balling, just wiping their eyes and sniffing. "Anyways, nobody else liked me, even after I became his girlfriend. It got worse, actually, instead of being ignored, I was hated by the other girls."
"I'm so sorry, Esther."
Esther nodded, "Thank you." She took a sip and said, "But, my point is that for the first time I feel like I don't have to be the weirdo church-freak, you know? I'm just a regular girl, out on the town, and it...it makes me so happy." She covered her mouth.
Star walked around the counter and gave Esther a hug.
Esther said, "And I'm sad because all those years of shame and embarrassment, I can't get back. And I'm excited because I can have a new life, and it makes me want to cry..."
Here, Esther broke up the hug and Star pulled away. Esther looked at Star's face and said, "But, Star, you're not supposed to be crying, too!"
Star laughed, and then Esther did, too. They hugged again, and Star said, "I'm happy for you, that's all."
Esther said, "You're so good to me, Star. Thank you."
Star walked back around the counter and said, "I need more wine." They both laughed again, and Star topped off both of their glasses.
They each took a sip, and there was almost an uncomfortable silence before Star said, "I talked to my brother about...you know."
Esther put down her glass, "Does he hate me?"
Star smiled, "No, he loves you."
Not true. I didn't. I just wanted Esther to be happy.
Esther said, "Did he talk about it with you? Sex?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Mm-hmm. I think these issues are all solvable, Esther. I really do."
"Tell me."
Star took another sip, and Esther followed. Star said, "From what he described, I wondered about...about how your parts fit together. So, I had him show me his penis."
I froze. Esther did, too.
Star hastily added, "He didn't want to. But, he knew I only wanted to help you, so he did."
"He did?" Esther asked, her voice full of wonder.
Star nodded. "He's not normal, Esther. I can totally see how it might be very painful."
Esther nodded, "I thought his might be...be different." She raised her glass and paused. "He was...was he erect?"
"I asked him to make himself hard."
"Oh. That...that must have been very uncomfortable for you."
Star waved this off. "It was like I was his doctor."
Esther nodded and then had her sip.
"I asked him about you, and he thought you might be small," Star continued.
"I think I am."
"And, since neither of you are really experienced, and it's not been easy for you to have conversations about sex..."
"It's my fault," Esther said. "The way I was taught was to just submit to your husband. It was not a subject for conversation, so I never wanted to talk about it."
"It's not all your fault, Esther. My brother knows he could have done a better job of reading your sexual signals and understanding how you feel."
"Reading sexual signals?"
Star nodded, "It's what experienced lovers do."
Esther was looking at Star, and it felt like there was something like envy in her face.
Star went on, "So, he's thinking your body is ready for him when it isn't. He's thinking that his penis is normal when it isn't. He's thinking that you're enjoying it, but you're not."
Esther nodded, still watching Star's every gesture, hanging on her every word.
"I've got some ideas, but there's still something I don't know, and I need to find out."
"What?"
"Don't be mad?"
Esther smiled. "Of course I won't be."
Star took another sip, cleared her throat, and said, "I'd like to see your vagina, Esther, so I can know for sure how the two of you fit together. I've seen his, but he's only told me about yours. I think I need to see it. Will you show it to me?"
"Do you think I should?"
Star nodded. "I just want to help you two. I love you both so much."
Esther didn't say a word.
Star added, "This isn't about me being a lesbian, Star. I'm not trying to..."
"Here? Show you here?" Esther asked, interrupting Star's pledges.
"You will?"
Esther nodded.
"Not...not here. Let's go to my room. It won't take long."
Both of them drained their glasses. When Esther rose from her chair, she stopped. "Oh!" she said, "Is this what wine does to you?"
Star giggled, and then Esther did, too. They turned towards Star's bedroom, and I backed away and crept into her bathroom, leaving the door cracked open.
They walked in and Star shut the door behind Esther. Esther walked to the center of the room and turned around, waiting.
Star smiled. "Don't be nervous. This is going to help, remember?"
Esther nodded.
Star walked over to her, and they looked at each other. Star said, "Here, let me show you all I want to see." She backed up to the bed and pulled down her pants and panties. She sat on the bed and raised one of her feet up, placing it beside her, knee bent. "Come here."
Star looked down at her own pussy.
Esther walked over in front of her, blocking my view. "You shave it?"
"Yes, I don't like all the hair."
"How often do you have to do it?"
"Whenever I shave my legs."
"Oh," Esther said, quietly.
Star said, "Anyways, here look. I just want to see how big you are this way, and between...here. And then, if you're okay with it, I just want to put a finger in you...see...like this...and feel how tight you are, because if it's like what my brother described, I may have some ideas. Is that okay?"
This is going to happen, I thought, stunned. Esther is actually going to do this.
She said, "Okay."
Star stood up and Esther unzipped her skirt, wiggled her hips, and slid it down to the floor. Then, she pulled down her white panties and stepped out of them. She sat on the bed and looked up at Star. Star had not put her own clothes back on. I watched the thrilling curves of her ass as she knelt between my wife's legs. Star knew where I was, and she was careful to preserve my view.
Esther's pussy had a small patch of yellow hair near the base, nothing more. She might have had long hair, but she was not naturally hairy.
"Yeah, you're pretty small," Star said.
Esther looked up.
"But that's good, Esther. Once everything is comfortable for you, it will be very, very nice for him."
Star reached between Esther's legs and spread her apart with her index and middle fingers. Star craned her neck forward and looked inside. Her face was about a foot away from Esther's wide open pussy.
It was at that moment—the moment my sister's fingers parted the lips of my wife's pussy—that I lost myself in their actions. It became, for me, like an amazing movie, one where I forget I'm in a theater. I felt paralyzed by what I saw. My cock remained painfully hard, and I watched in awe.
"Did you have any experience with boys before you decided...you know?" Esther asked.
Star looked up at her. "That I wanted to be with girls? Some."
"What made you know for sure that you liked girls?"
"Oh, there were some things that just...happened. I don't know. Long story. Esther, are you usually this wet when you're with my brother?"
Esther shook her head from side to side. "No."
"May I put my finger inside you?"
Esther nodded.
Star curled all of her fingers together, except the middle. Very gently, she pushed it inside Esther.
My wife drew in a deep breath.
"Am I hurting you?" Star asked.
Esther shook her head.
"It feels okay?"
She nodded.
Star said, "My brother is so lucky to have you, Esther. You're one of the kindest and most beautiful women I've ever met."
Esther huffed a tiny burst of laughter. "You probably never even knew I existed in high school, but I always thought that you were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. Every boy in the school was in love with you. Every girl wanted to be you. After we got married, I was so intimidated that I was afraid to even talk to you."
"I hope I was never unkind."
"No, the more I came to know you, the more I realized how sweet you are."
"I've always felt the same way about you."
Esther said, "Do you like it? Being just with girls?"
Star's finger remained inside Esther. I saw her rotate her wrist, and the tip of Star's her finger must have spun inside Esther. Finally, Star said, "It might surprise you to hear that I've been starting to think—for a while, now—that maybe I miss boys, that I may not be a true lesbian, even though I very much like girls."
Star's finger slowly drew back, and then pushed in even more gradually.
Star continued, "Seeing you and my brother together, and I know these haven't been the happiest of times between you, but it reminds me of a different kind of companionship that I've been missing."
Esther just continued to gaze at Star.
"Boys sometimes are so simple that they're complex, and girls are the opposite—so complex that they're often simple."
Esther almost silently gasped. She muttered, "What do you mean?"
Star repeated the action with her fingers. She explained, "Boys are simple in that you just kind of need to rub them the right way with your body for them to feel pleasure, but they're not easy to communicate with, so everything gets much more difficult. With girls, we have so many places on our bodies where we can feel pleasure that we seem complex, but all we really need is to feel sexy and beautiful, so we're simple."
Esther watched Star's finger twist and slide in and out of her. When they spoke again, neither of their voices were the same.
Star asked, "Have you had an orgasm?"
"I don't know."
Star looked up at her. "May I try to give you one? Just so you know?"
Esther nodded.
"Lay back."
Esther let her body fall back on the mattress, her feet remained on the floor. Star crawled closer, and her face was now inches from Star's pussy. Star inserted a second finger, and she continued to gently and very smoothly fuck Esther's pussy with a twisting motion.
Esther gasped. I watched her tits rise and fall, but I paid more attention to Star's ass. Fuck, it was gorgeous. I would have given anything to step through the bathroom door and fuck her from behind.
Esther began to moan, and a few moments later, my sister stopped.
"Esther, would it be okay if I used my tongue?"
She hummed and nodded. My mouth fell open. My sister was about to give my wife—my Esther—oral sex, and I'd never once been allowed to do it with her before.
That book. That fucking book.
I didn't really know who my wife was anymore.
Star moved in. She spread Esther with her hands, and when her tongue delicately swept up and down over Esther's exposed clitoris, Esther's head rose up off the bed. Her chest lurched, and she burst out with a loud "Mmm!" I might have called Esther's expression one of loving concern the way the insides of her eyebrows tilted up, and the way her eyes gazed at my sister.
Esther hummed increasingly loudly, and it was so genuine that I knew I had been hurting her all along. This was Esther's sound, not the ones I had been hearing when I fucked her.
Star's right hand briefly drew back, and then swiftly plunged, two fingers forward, into Esther. Another loud hum rang out in the room, and it was followed by an "Oh!" Shortly, Esther began alternately humming and oh-ing as Star's pace increased. The room began echoing with my wife's orgasm—her first, I knew. My sister gave Esther her first.
Esther lifted her ass of the bed with her tippy toes, and Star clutched at Esther's hips to keep her pelvis tight against her mouth. Then, Esther was screaming and screaming. She rocked her pussy up and down on Star's tongue, clutching at her own head, like her brain was on fire. Then she froze, and her body shuddered and sank back onto the sheets.
And then Esther started laughing and screaming. She was utterly, completely jubilant.
Star sat back on her heels and watched. She was laughing, too, holding both of her hands over her heart.
Esther was still laughing when she breathlessly yelled, "No, I've never had an orgasm. Not until now, Star. Not until now." Then, she screamed again.
I watched Star's hand wipe tears from her eyes.
Esther sat up, and she and Star immediately hugged each other.
"Thank you!" Esther said, and she held Star's face with both hands and kissed her on the lips.
And, it dawned on me, then, that Esther had never, not once, kissed me after we had sex. I had never made her that joyful and grateful with my body.
The movie was over.
I was awake again, and blood churned through me.
Had this been Star's last, most ruthless prank? Her grand finale? Fucking my wife in front of me? Maybe stealing her from me? Taking her in ways I could only dream about?
I was intensely, ragingly jealous. The fury of the fucking pit of hell was boiling inside my guts. My body trembled with adrenaline. I was the embodiment of physical violence.
It felt good.
I am going to actually, really kill my sister, I decided, right here in this apartment.
*****
Author's Note: Thanks to shygirlwhore for editing and offering suggestions. And, thanks to readers for taking the time to check this out. I hope the build led to some rewards for your patience. More soon to follow. FSEsther and Star Ch. 02
Brother infuriated by sister's betrayal.
It was a Monday in late November of my freshman year. My attraction to Esther, having been watching her in PE, was beginning to move from curiosity to interest. I was sitting in the cafeteria. I hadn't eaten, but my stomach felt heavy.
Heavy with fear. The night before, I had promised Star that I would beat up Mike Jackamanie and Bobby Jericho. They were seniors.
I promised Star that I would do it on Monday.
I promised Star that I would do during lunch where everyone could see.
I promised Star that I would, in her words, "destroy them."
I was scared shitless. Why the fuck would Star have picked me, a freshman?
Looking back, I think I understand. Star had tons of friends and was hugely popular in her class, but her friends were all girls. Boys didn't think of Star as a friend; they thought of her as the object of their surging sexual desire. There was no true allegiance there.
But, she had me, her brother.
I had grown about eight inches in the previous two years, and some of the juniors and seniors at school called me "Man-Child." I didn't look like a freshman. I hit my growth spurt about the same time I fell in love with weightlifting. It paid off. I was the first 9th grader to ever letter in varsity football at our school. I was big and fast, strong and quick.
Star also knew that, like her, I had an athlete's natural instinct for leverage and knowing how to control my body, getting it to do the things I wanted it to do. I could watch someone who'd spent weeks perfecting a skill on the trampoline, say, and in a few measly minutes, I could do it, myself.
I just could do things. I was never on the track team, but a friend of mine was—he pole vaulted. During my senior year, I sneaked down to give it a try. It looked pretty fucking cool. The coach was over talking to some of the hurdlers. My friend had a couple underclassmen set the bar at ten feet—a decent beginner's height. I'd watched people pole vault; it didn't seem that hard. My friend gave me a few final pointers.
On my first and only attempt, I cleared the bar by more than four feet. I almost could have stood on that bar. When I emerged from the landing pit with my hands in the air, screaming, one of the coaches ran me off the track. My friend guessed I might have cleared 14 or 14-6. Either of those would have gotten me into the state track meet. I wouldn't have placed or anything, but I would have been there.
So, I sound like I'm bragging, but it was the cold truth. I was a natural, gifted athlete.
I liked it that Star believed in me. My senior sister, I thought, believes her freshman brother can beat up two seniors—at once. Yeah, I was pretty proud.
But, in the lunchroom, on the day it was supposed to happen, I was terrified.
As a freshman and a dumbass, I was not asking an important question: why did Star want to hurt these guys? What had they ever done to her?
Didn't she hang out with a group of friends that included those two, Jackamanie and Jericho, from time to time?
All I knew was that Star didn't come to church with us on Sunday morning, and she didn't come out of her room all day. Mom said Star was sick. I left her alone.
After Sunday dinner—with Star absent—my parents went out to a movie. I was chilling on the couch when Star appeared.
She looked pale and miserable, but she didn't look or sound physically sick. She made her request, and then she made me swear to a bunch of promises.
The last two promises I had to make were, in retrospect, the most ominous. But, like I said, I was a dumbass.
She made me promise never to ask her why she wanted me to beat their asses.
Then, tears forming in her eyes, she made me promise never to even think about why she wanted me to do this.
So, I sat in the cafeteria, and I watched Jericho and Jackamanie finish their lunches. My mind raced.
I knew I needed to take them on one at a time. Didn't matter how good I was. Two 185 pound seniors versus one 165 pound freshman? I was a goner if it was two on one.
I knew I needed to do it fast. The lunch monitors and the duty officer would instantly break up fights. I'd seen it happen. You got about 30 seconds of fighting in before the adults broke through the crowd and started prying people apart and hauling them to the office.
I knew I needed to cheap shot one of them. That would be the only way to take them on one at a time and to do it fast.
But there was a problem. As soon as the senior boys saw one of their own get cheap-shotted by a freshman, they would scramble from their tables and come after me. Our school had that kind of class unity. Fair fights were another matter. Cheap shots? No. I'd be on the floor with ten seniors kicking on me in a matter of seconds.
Even worse, I'd fail Star, and I couldn't possibly do that. It was unthinkable. She was my big sister. She needed me to be her warrior. I fucking loved her.
So, the only way I could think of winning the fight was just not an option.
Jericho and Jackamanie, ever best of friends according to Star, got up from their table and picked up their trays.
It was now.
My guts turned over. My heart raced frantically. My body felt like a hunk a trembling lead-too heavy to move, too terrified to calm.
I'm sorry, Star. I can't do this. There's no way to win. I'll just get the shit beat out of me.
Fuck that. I stood up and walked around the table towards them.
For years, I didn't remember one strange part of that day. It's easy for me to explain it now, but if someone had asked me, after everything—after the whole shebang was all over—why I did this strange thing, there's no way I could have supplied a reasonable answer.
One of the tables I walked by—medium-sized circular ones for about eight people each—had just one person sitting at it: Esther.
I stopped beside her. She looked up at me, and I said. "This isn't what I want to do, but I promised someone." I felt her eyes follow me as I continued past her toward the dish room.
I saw Star out of my peripheral vision. She stood up from her table when she saw me. All by herself among hundreds of sitting kids, she rose. I glanced her way and nodded. She started walking towards me.
The dish room where Jackamanie and Jericho were headed had two doorways; both were always wedged completely open during lunch. You walked in from around a corner; you put your trash in the big roll-away bins, threw your silver in the soap and water-filled tubs, set your cups on the big cup holders, and slid your tray on the shelf. Then you walked through the propped-open exit door.
The exit led you right back into the cafeteria.
Jericho and Jackamanie turned the corner and walked in the dish room entrance. I stopped, dead center in front of the entire cafeteria at the doorway, blocking the exit. I watched them put away their shit.
My stomach fluttered. I tried to swallow, but there wasn't a drop of spit in me. I could, my almost-hysterical mind begged, let them go right by me when they finished. I could say, "Excuse me," and turn sideways, letting them slip by.
"Hey, Jackamanie! Jericho! Yeah, you dickheads!" I yelled.
The entire lunchroom fell silent.
The boys looked up at me, astonished.
Then, I said something so fucking stupid that it still embarrasses me to this day. "I am going to destroy you." I said it calmly; no need to yell, anymore. Everyone heard me.
I don't think anyone in the lunchroom thought I was serious. No one laughed, but who the fuck says, "I'm going to destroy you," except maybe a robot in a science fiction movie?
Jericho looked at me like I was playing a prank. Jackamanie, behind him, looked like he recognized the reality of my threat. That told me something, right there. I saw him nudge Jericho forward.
They walked towards me, Jericho shaking his head, smiling at my mock-threat. "Move, retard," he said.
I struck fast. I sunk at the hips and knees, curling myself into a position where I could explode forward. I drew my hands back to my chest, palms out. Then, I launched myself up and toward Jericho, shoving as hard as I could. He went airborne into Jackamanie, and they both crashed to the ground.
The lunchroom erupted, first with an enormous "oh!" and then with screams and cheers. I felt bodies forming a semi-circle around me as I waited just beyond the threshold of the exit.
Jericho got up first, pissed. He stepped to me and threw a massive, sweeping hook toward my left eye. I ducked it.
And his fist landed against the steel jamb surrounding the exit. I heard meat and bone crunch.
Jericho screamed. He cupped his crippled right hand in his left. He was done.
Still, I shot my left fist directly into his gut and immediately followed it with a lightning-fast right uppercut. My knuckles connected with his jaw. His head rocked back, and he fell on his ass, unconscious the whole way. The back of his head bounced off the tile floor.
Jackamanie watched the whole thing. He was pissing himself; I saw it in his eyes. They darted left and right, seeing the crowd behind me. Then, his eyes fell on me. He knew there was no way out of this fight without looking like a coward.
I remained in the doorway, screaming, "Come on, you fuck!"
He charged me. He lowered his body and sprinted at me as if to tackle my legs. He wanted to put me on my back and pummel my face.
But, I was just past the threshold of the doorway, so he had only one direction to go. And when he closed with the exit, I stepped to my left, cocked my knee backward, and then hurled it into his face as he passed through the narrow gap.
He skidded on the ground leaving a trail of blood behind him.
The crowd was no longer cheering the fight; they were shocked into silence by the massacre. I leaped on top of Jackamanie, turned him over, and kneed him in the nuts. "This is for Star, you fucking cocksucker!"
I punched him in the nose four times before about six people—none of them adults—yanked me off him.
Yep, my fight in the cafeteria with two seniors was such butchery that the students, themselves, stopped it. They didn't even wait for the teachers.
It was the doorway that made it work for me. I didn't know I was channeling them into a narrow gap, evening the odds. I didn't think of it that way. I just felt like it was the best place for me to be. It was.
The school's duty officer broke through the crowd and seized me. I listened to the arrival of ambulances behind the locked door of the vice-principal's office. She didn't say a word to me. Neither did the officer. The school nurse made sure I was unhurt. Another cop arrived; he read me my rights and placed me in handcuffs. The administrative staff watched wordlessly as the officer marched me out of the building.
I spent a few hours in a holding cell at the precinct before being escorted to an interview room where a slew of officers and school administrators came and went, each demanding to know what started it, why I did it, and so on.
I never said a word to any of them. My parents sent an attorney over. I didn't tell him anything, either, except that I wanted to plead guilty.
I remained incarcerated for two days before my arraignment. There was some argument about my status before the judge re-assigned the case to a juvenile court.
So, I went to a juvenile holding cell, spending another night there before my new arraignment. I pled guilty. The judge verified my plea on the spot, asking all kinds of questions—including why I did it, but I didn't give him what he wanted there—and sentenced me to sixty days.
I didn't kill anybody, but I definitely destroyed them. At the hearing, I learned that Jericho has a dislocated jaw, a concussion, and broke three bones in his hand. Jackamanie had a broken face—the formen and the orbital, I think is what the prosecutor said. I shattered his nose; he had to have reconstructive surgery.
Mom, Dad, and Star visited me each week, but we didn't say much to one another. Apparently, Jericho's and Jackamanie's parents initially threatened to sue our family, but for whatever reason, they backed off and sued the school district, instead.
Juvie is one fucked up place. I absolutely hated it, but my case was re-evaluated in mid-December, and they sent me home on Christmas Day.
Star was a wreck at home, crying and hugging me, apologizing and crying some more. Mostly she thanked me.
My parents were helpless with confusion and disappointment, and when they weren't confused, they were pissed. They wanted to know why I did it. I told them I would never say, but that it had to happen. My parents enrolled me in a military school about sixty miles from our home.
On the day before I was set to leave, my father walked into my bedroom and told me I could go back to the public high school.
I thanked him, apologized for the hundredth time, and asked him what changed his mind.
He just said, "Star," and walked out.
***
Star.
You fucking whore cunt.
She led Esther out of the bedroom after they had gotten dressed. I listened from the door into Star's bedroom as they drank more wine and ate more cheese in the kitchen. They may have been talking about me, talking about how to make our sex better. I didn't give a fuck; all I was waiting for was for Esther to go to the bathroom.
Because I knew Star would come back into her room and urge me to leave and come back in a few minutes, as if I'd always been gone.
I knew Star would be virtually alone for a minute or two.
I knew I would end her fucking life when she walked back into her bedroom.
I waited, and my body felt ready, poised for a massive eruption of physical violence.
I waited until I heard the words. Esther said, "Hold that thought? I have got to go to the bathroom."
I stood a few feet inside and to the left of her door and took three deep breaths.
I'll always remember how Star walked into that room. Her face was bright—she couldn't hide her joy—but her words, when she saw me, were apologetic.
She got out about four of them. She saw me, turned, and said, "I am so sorry, bu..."
I clutched her jaw, lifted her off the ground, and pinned her body against the wall. My left fist was poised behind my head, awaiting a trigger.
"That was my fucking wife you just fucked, you fucking cunt slut. My fucking wife!"
Star's eyes went wild with terror. She had anticipated that I might be upset. She did not expect murderous fury. Her hands flailed around my head. Her legs kicked at me. She couldn't breathe, and I thought, yes, I'll choke her to death.
"Is this your final little fucking trick? Making me look like a fucking cocksucker in front of my wife? Is this how you treat the brother that covered your ass in front of Mom, Dad, the school board, the judge, and the fucking cops by sucking it up, keeping my mouth shut, and going to fucking juvie for forty days? Is it?"
My arm was tiring. I held Star about two feet off the ground, against the wall, with one hand. She slid down a few inches, and something behind her tore.
I glanced up. It was her rainbow unicorn poster.
When I saw it, everything drained from me. I let her down, releasing my grip. Star instantly crumbled to the carpet, clutching her throat, gasping, and sobbing.
I walked out of the apartment.
The unicorn poster saved her life. Mine, too, really.
***
Esther had not seen me. It was sometime after 9:00 pm when I left, and my first instinct was to run.
I raced down the back stairwell, avoiding the elevator. I dashed through the lobby and out the front doors, and I ran down the street toward the Longwood Medical Area. I turned up Brookline Ave., heading in the direction of Fenway Park, never slowing down.
I stopped at the Landmark Center movie plex. I went inside and bought a ticket to a film that had already started. I sat down in the theater and thought frantically about my next decision.
To this day, I have no idea what film was showing. I wasn't watching. Sometimes, I wonder if, scrolling through the channels on tv one day, I might accidentally come across it. A bit of music or dialogue might jar a memory, and then I would be flooded with those feelings again—panic, shame, and fear.
Sitting in that theater, I felt a love for Star that went beyond anything I'd ever known. The act of almost murdering her reminded me of how much I cared about her. What if I had seen it through to the end? Fuck me. My heart pounded in my chest at the thought. I hate to admit it, but tears streamed down my face in that darkness.
Sitting in that theater, I realized how I—and maybe countless others, maybe all mankind—was lucky not to be a killer. It was a freak accident—tearing her poster—that stopped me from committing murder.
And, I knew, it would not have just been one killing. It would have been one of those pathetic local news headlines people see all the time anymore: Murder-Suicide, only mine would have been a double.
I nodded, staring at the back of the seat in front of me, at the truth of it. If I had strangled Star to death, Esther would have heard it, heard something, come into that bedroom and seen it all. She would have collapsed on the floor, screaming and covering her mouth. Then, guilt would have driven me to seize her, too.
It would have.
I could not have let her live in sadness, knowing that she'd married a murderer, knowing how weak I really was. I would have strangled Esther. Afterwards, I might have run away from it all, but sooner or later, the guilt would have caught up with me, and I would have killed myself. I knew it in my heart.
It was my near-miss with death—not just death, but the fucking devil. That was my near-miss with the Prince of Darkness, himself. I looked him in the eyes, and he showed me that I was looking in a mirror. The hair on my neck suddenly felt electrified, and my arms prickled with goosebumps. I was shaking.
My phone chimed in my pocket, and the couple to my left glanced over at me.
Funny how embarrassment can awaken you and pull you out from even the most terrifying pit. I mouthed "sorry" to them, reaching into my pocket and pulling it out. I flipped the silence switch without looking at it.
It was probably Star, telling me she'd called the police. Or, it was Esther, calling to let me know that I should never come back.
What the fuck was I going to do now?
When I had Star against the wall, every neuron in my brain was screaming to kill her. Surely, she'd seen it in my eyes, felt the uncontrolled rage in my grip. Star had to have known that I was going to kill her.
How do you apologize for that? "I'm sorry that I tried to kill you, Star." Yeah, no. Things could never be the same again between her and me.
And Esther? She had to know by now that something horrific went down. Star was so fucking sensitive. There'd be no way for her to hide it. Hell, it was Star's overflowing sympathy that—what, two hours earlier?—had led her to give me, her poor, sex-suffering brother, some relief by stroking my cock into her bathroom sink. That depth of feeling would surely show. No, Esther knew.
And Esther would be crushed with guilt. She had drank wine, let her sister-in-law seduce her and perform oral sex on her, and she'd enjoyed it.
I had just annihilated everything good in my life. I made a decision, right there.
I walked out of the theater before the film ended, thinking that I was going to kill myself. It actually sounded kind of nice, to be honest. I hadn't formed a plan, yet. But, I thought, I can do this; it'll be easy.
Then, Star saved my life.
My phone buzzed. It had been buzzing for some time, and, knowing what I was prepared to do, I figured I didn't mind looking anymore.
I missed one call from Esther and three from Star. Three? I expected one—one with a voicemail saying fuck off and good-bye. But, I didn't have any voicemails.
I had two text messages, both from Star.
The first read, "Going to call again at 9:30. Pls answer!"
The latest one read, "Calling again at 9:45. Answer! Pls!"
As I read, another text from her came in. "Answer at 10, brother mine. Esther doesn't know you were here. Answer, and I release you from your J&J promise. Love, S."
The time on my phone read 9:54.
I did not expect this at all. How could Esther not know? "Love, S?" What the hell had happened after I left? It almost seemed like nothing, nothing at all.
The fucking whopper was the end of her note. I knew she was serious, then. Releasing me from my promise meant that I could ask her, finally, why she had me beat the fuck out of Jericho and Jackamanie. I wanted to know; I had wanted it for years. I needed closure on that shitty part of my life.
I answered her call at 10:00 sharp, forgetting completely the plan I had been formulating to kill myself.
"Hey, Star."
"Oh, my gosh. Thank you for answering. Thank you!" I opened my mouth to talk, and Star said, "Now, please listen to what I need to say."
Here it comes.
"First, you fucking asshole, you ripped my favorite poster! Do you know how long I've had that?"
I burst into laughter, not at her loss, but at her sincerity and at the way she never quit surprising me. It was full of relief, my laughter.
Star never laughed once, but I could tell from her voice that she was just as relieved as I was.
"You think it's funny? I loved that poster. You owe me, brother mine. Okay, next, that really hurt, and you need to say sorry."
"I'm sorry, Star."
"On second thought, sorry isn't good enough. You need to tell me that you love me, and then say sorry."
"I'm sorry. I love you, Star."
"That was the wrong order, but I guess that's okay. Third, I need to say sorry to you." She paused for a moment and then began, "I couldn't stop myself. Esther is so gentle and beautiful, and I knew she was starting to be afraid of sex, and I wanted her to feel how wonderful and amazing it can be. I never should have done that. I told you I wouldn't. I convinced myself that, being a guy, you'd end up thinking it was sexy, seeing us that way. I was wrong. Brother mine, I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"
"Yes. I do. I just got jealous, Star. I lost control."
"I did, too, don't you see?"
"Yes, fuck it, yes. I'm sorry. I forgive you. You forgive me?
"Yes! That's what I've been saying, dumbass."
I chuckled again.
"You need to come home before Esther gets worried about you."
"Okay."
"You'll come home? We'll see you soon?"
"Yes."
I hung up and texted Esther. "Movie's done. On my way home."
I glanced at the big Citgo sign by Fenway Park. I closed my eyes, took a huge gulp of air, and blew it out. I looked up at the night sky and whispered, "Thank you."
Then, I ran back to the apartment.
Star was watching television with Esther. I grabbed a bite to eat and showered, still astounded by how things had worked out. Esther came in the room when I got out. She asked about the movie. I told her I barely even watched it. She began getting ready for bed.
"Hey, Esther, are you okay?"
She thought about her answer. "I think so. Everything is just different now."
"Was the book a mistake?"
"No!" she blurted, and then she cleared her throat. "No. I'm glad that I read it. My eyes are open."
"Are you going to tell your family—I don't know—give them a copy of the book?"
She shook her head, sadly. "I've thought about that. I don't think I will, sweets. I mean, they've lived over 50 years as Witnesses. I don't see how I can deliberately set out to sabotage that and make them realize they've wasted so much of their lives, you know?"
"Yeah." Then, I asked, "Is there any way to get them back? Your family?"
"So long as they are Witnesses, and I'm disfellowshipped, no."
"Then, is it worth a try? The book?"
She thought about it for several seconds, and then shook her head again, "I don't think I could do it to them."
"Okay. Do you want to talk about anything—anything about how you're feeling and what you're thinking?"
"Not tonight. I'm tired." She went to the bathroom.
When she came out and slid into bed beside me, I said, "I'm sorry, Ess, that I...I failed you." Fuck, that was hard for me to say, but it needed to get done. "I'm trying to learn."
"I am, too, Sweets."
I wasn't tired. For some crazy reason, I felt like reaching for a book, but there were none in my nightstand. So, I turned off my light and laid there, thinking.
What a fucking day. Holy shit.
Sometime around midnight, I got up and went into the living room. I turned on the tv. The couch was too soft for sleeping. I grabbed a long pillow and laid on the floor in front of it. I flipped through the channels, hoping to find something that might take my mind off of the worst parts of the day. I ended up on a classic movie channel, watching some old war pic. It was June 5th, and I guess they run war movies around d-day.
I glanced to my right and Star was standing beside me, wrapped in a pink fuzzy blanket.
"Geez!" I hissed. My entire body flinched
She smiled. "Sorry to sneak up on you. Couldn't sleep?"
I shook my head.
"Me, neither. Care if I join you?"
"No."
She briefly opened the blanket when she sat down. I caught a glimpse of her thighs and panties before she curled it back around herself. I turned back to the movie.
"Are you okay? Your neck?" I asked.
"I just have a headache is all."
"I'm sorry."
"Me, too. Aren't you cold?"
I was in my usual—basketball shorts and nothing else. I didn't haul out a blanket or anything. "It's June, Star. No."
"But the air conditioning, I mean."
"I'm perfect."
We watched in silence for five minutes, and I could feel her glancing at me every so often. Finally, I asked.
"What?"
"Will you give me a head rub, like when we were kids?"
I looked at her. No guy could refuse her face. "Yes, but I'm not moving. I'm comfortable here."
She liked to be carried by me, yes, but she also liked when I gave her a kind of head or scalp massage. I hadn't given her one since I was probably eleven years old.
She smiled and said, "I'll just lay here."
I didn't know where "here" was until she laid on her side at a right angle to me and rested her head on my belly for a pillow, facing the television. Her hair was all over my bare chest, and I liked how silky it felt.
"Oh, my gosh," she said, "your body is warm."
I brought my hands up and buried my fingers in her hair, wiggling down to the scalp, and then I slowly rubbed tiny circles. She uttered a long hum of satisfaction, and I liked the sound.
"Can I ask you something?" she muttered.
"Yeah."
"You can be honest."
I waited.
"Were you going to really hurt me earlier? Like, really kill me? I won't be mad."
For a fraction of a second, I wondered how I ought to answer. I stopped rubbing her head and said, "What?"
"You heard me."
I sighed. "I don't know what I was going to do. I lost it." I began massaging her again. When she didn't say anything, I finally said, "Maybe."
"Sometimes—sometimes I feel like I can read your mind."
"You're my sister, and I love you. I'm sorry."
"It's over," she said, and her face rolled down. I felt her lips on my tummy; I heard a tiny smack. Then, she rolled back.
I left one hand on her scalp, and used the other hand to rub the back of her neck.
"Oh, that's nice."
After I finished with her neck, I gently ran my fingers along the underside of her jaw, and then back over her cheeks and around her ears. She purred, and I did it again.
It began to feel sexual. I imagined that she was sucking my cock like this—her head resting on my belly, facing away from me. My hands, gently massaging her head, were guiding her and encouraging her.
I drew my hands off and, embracing the vision of Star sucking me, nestled my fingers into her scalp again. I added the tiniest bit of pressure, nudging her further down my tummy, closer to my cock.
It was growing extremely rapidly. She must not have been looking.
She hummed again, and I imagined her lips around my shaft, swirling her tongue and making that sweet sound.
Her head lay sideways upon me. One of my hands was on the top of her head; the other was on the side. Each of the tips of my fingers rubbed slow, sensual circles, embedded in her lush hair.
I was rock hard now, and I could see the tent on the other side of her head, completely blocking her view of the television. Part of me was embarrassed, another part of me didn't give a shit. The dream was too good, and I didn't want it to end.
Keep your eyes closed, Star. Please!
Star adjusted herself the tiniest amount, and I froze.
She uttered, "Are you going to ask me about J and J, now that I said you can?"
Were her eyes still closed? I replied, "Do you want me to?"
She was silent for a beat, and then she said, "No."
"Then I won't."
I continued rubbing. Fuck it, I thought, maybe she'll fall asleep, spare me the explaining and let me keep this incredibly sexy moment in my memory.
Star whispered, "I love you."
And then her fingers lifted the waistband of my shorts up and over my erection. And then her hand grasped the very bottom of my shaft and bent it down, towards her face. I saw the tip fall from my view, blocked by the back of Star's head.
I felt her warm breath against the tip, and I waited in disbelief and a peak of anticipation that I had never known before.
My fingers were utterly still on her head. My heart raced.
Then, Star's head slid down my tummy, and I felt her lips close around the head, and I felt her tongue gently bathe it in warm saliva.
I groaned and whispered, "Oh, fucking shit, that's amazing."
It was like a total eclipse, that moment. Everything was different and new, simultaneously. Imagination met reality, and reality won. I wanted my cock in a woman's mouth, always.
Star hadn't moved to take more of me in, but I felt like more of me was inside her mouth. Could a cock, already hard as iron, grow even more?
I nestled my fingers in her hair, and began to both massage her and gently urge her on. She remained latched to the tip. Her head hadn't moved, but her tongue continued to caress.
I heard a tiny smack and felt her lips release the head. Her head craned forward and I listened to Star take a gulp of air, and then her lips cinched deeper on the shaft. Slowly, they drew up it, and just as slowly, down. Up and down.
I gasped and let out a breath, feeling my stomach clench as if lightly tickled. My ass flexed when she went down. The sensation was crushing in its power. I belonged to Star, completely.
I pinched my eyes shut and grunted, "Fuck, Star, it's too fucking good."
Still, her lips rode the shaft, and I watched the back of her head come and go. Every time she went down was like a step up—to a new height of pleasure, ever closer to cumming. Soon, my heart felt like it was pumping fire, not blood.
"Please, Star. Oh, shit. Please."
The muscles of my stomach fired, and my head rose from the floor. My cock was contracting rapidly, and I began to fill Star's mouth. That she didn't pull away, that she actually let me cum inside her mouth, was like some incredible gift from her, and it made my first blowjob absolutely perfect.
I grunted and Star moaned as my cock throbbed between her lips. It pulsed and more fired into her. She moaned again. And again. Shortly, my cock convulsed one last time, and Star uttered one long, unbroken, high-pitched moan. Fuck, it was sexy.
I let out the breath I had been holding. I softly ran my fingers through Star's hair, caressing it. Her lips continued to hold tip of my cock, and I felt and heard her throat swallow.
"Thank you, Star," I gasped. "Oh, shit, that was amazing."
She didn't respond; she just laid there on my tummy, letting me pet her and clutching my penis with her lips.
Her hand released the base of the shaft and cupped my balls, lifting them and then feeling each with her fingers. I felt her mouth open, but she didn't pull off. She just laid there, mouth open, breathing. I felt the air sweep up and down my cock with each breath. After several seconds, she closed her mouth around it. She sucked it briefly, and then just held the tip in her soft lips. Her hand never stopped gently massaging my balls.
"Oh, shit, that feels good," I told her.
My dick was softening, but not completely. Star's lips kept me in a semi-full state. I wanted to ask her a question, but I didn't want her to stop. I was too perfectly comfortable.
I watched the movie.
Once, Star adjusted her head and neck, and I thought she had finally decided to bring an end to the pleasure she'd been giving me, but I was wrong. She let go of my balls, grabbed the shaft, and then tilted her head back. Now, she was watching the movie, too, and the head of my cock was still inside her mouth. Her hand let go of the shaft and resumed the slow, tender testicle massage.
I was torn between wanting to talk and wanting to relax and enjoy Star's post-orgasm gift. I decided to say something. "Seeing you and Esther together, I was so conflicted," I said.
Star hesitated for a moment, and then continued in her work.
I said, "I was turned on by the two of you together, no doubt about it. It was unbelievably sexy, but I also realized that for the first time in my life, I was no good at something physical. I sucked at sex with Esther, and it made me so jealous and angry."
Star sucked on my dick for a few seconds, and then relaxed her lips back into a kiss. Her hand began to slowly grab and tug on my balls, gently pulling them down, stretching the scrotum and then releasing them. It would have really hurt if she'd been even the slightest bit more aggressive. As it was, it felt really good.
"Mostly, I was mad at myself. I hated being incompetent. Even worse was the idea that I had been hurting Esther. Really, Star, the only thing I care about is making Esther happy. That, and having her think well of me."
I wasn't limp, but I was far from hard in Star's mouth and softening. Talking about my own failures probably didn't help matters. Star, sensing the change, began to take more of it into her mouth. Her lips gathered and collected more and more.
"I want to learn how to give Esther the kind of satisfaction that you gave her. I want her to kiss me after I fuck her and tell me that I'm the best. I want her to want me. I want her to want my cock...to love it, you know? If she loves my cock, then I know she loves all of me. I want her to scream for joy for me, like she did for you. Oh...oh, shit, Star."
Still tugging my balls, Star's lips were wrapped around the root of my cock. It felt really, really good. She wasn't watching the movie anymore; her head had turned down towards my body. My whole cock, I thought, is in Star's mouth, and the idea thrilled me. Star sucked hard. I felt the shaft stretch from the base. The tip was near the back of her throat, and Star swallowed at it. Her throat pinched it and tugged it, and then it was released.
"Fuck," I whispered.
My cock was growing again. I heard Star giggle into the shaft. She let go of my balls, turned, pushed herself up, and moved between my legs. She looked at me, and her eyes were happy.
I shook my head and whispered, "Again? Are you kidding me?"
She shook her head, and then looked down, concentrating, it seemed, on what was happening in her mouth.
I watched the base of my cock reappear. I watched as more and more of the shaft came into view, slipping from the grasp of Star's lips. She whimpered. In the end, she had less than half of the tower in her mouth. She whimpered again, disappointed at how little she'd been left with, I guessed.
I asked, "Can you get more?"
She tried. She opened her mouth and stretched her lips. I felt the tip push up against the back of her throat. Her lips clamped down on the shaft. She'd gained, maybe, an inch.
"Fuck, that's good." I said, "More?"
She took a few deep breaths, and then she opened her mouth again. The pressure I felt on the back of her throat was stronger, and she stopped, gaped her mouth open and coughed twice.
"Stop," I said, "Don't...don't hurt yourself, Star. I like it like this."
She nodded and slurped, wiping her mouth; her coughs had unleashed a torrent of thick saliva. My cock felt like it was covered in warm syrup. Then, once she took me back inside her lips, she began to slowly bob and twist on my cock, up and down, like one of those twenty-five cent horsey rides they used to have in front of the grocery store when we were kids.
Throughout, I felt Star's tongue pushing and dragging against the underside of my cock. It was perfect. I didn't want or need her to do anything else. What she was doing would easily take me to the end.
"You're killing me, Star. Shit."
I reached down and ran my fingers through her hair, from her forehead to the back, and then I held her there with both hands. I didn't exert any force; I just liked the feel on her head in my hands while she gave me the blowjob. She hummed a tiny little note of pleasure for me. I liked it.
She must have known I did, because she did it again. She slowed her pace, and every time she went down, she hummed.
It was the sound women make when they're eating a warm fudge brownie, I thought, and it's that perfect balance of gooey and firm. My body was racing to a climax. That sound—I didn't know if it was real or not, but I liked it; I liked that Star seemed as if the blowjob was giving her as much pleasure as me.
"You're fucking killing me, Star," I urgently hissed.
Suddenly, I was holding her head firmly place, several inches down on my cock. Star was moaning, and my cock was surging in her mouth, pulsing and spilling between her lips. I grunted, holding my breath and feeling like my entire body was cumming. From my toes to my fingers to my brain, my whole body was supercharged and pushing the climax to my core and out through the head of my cock. Star's waiting mouth collected it.
I released her head when it ended and felt myself go utterly lifeless, all except for my lungs. They pumped air.
Star, finally, let my cock free. It collapsed onto my tummy. She looked at me and smiled, and then she scooted up and laid beside me. I pulled half of the pillow out from behind my head, offering it to her. She took it, and we were head to head.
"I love blowjobs," I said.
Star laughed.
"Two of them are even better," I added.
She turned to me, smiling and laughing. She said, "I forgot how much fun those can be."
"You didn't mind doing it?"
"No, dumbass, I liked doing it."
"And the cum?"
"Well..." she said, and when she stopped there, I started laughing.
We laid there, laughing together. When it began to die out, I asked, "Did you mean what you told Esther about maybe not being a lesbian?"
"Dumbass!" she whispered, "Didn't I just give you some pretty solid evidence?"
"Yeah," I said.
Star was silent for a moment, strangely so, and then she said, "You should see what sucking cock does to my pussy."
"What do you mean?"
"How wet I am right now."
"Really?"
She sat up. "Here look," she said, and then she threw her leg over my chest. She backed her ass towards me and bent forward. I was looking at her crotch. It was dark, but nothing seemed to be there. Fuck, it was a beautiful ass. I put my hands on it, craning my neck forward to see her wetness.
She looked back at me, "It's like what happens when I swallow cum."
I peered over at her, "What do you mean? What happens to you?" I turned back, scrutinizing her crotch two inches from my nose.
She whispered, "I get cum farts."
"No!" I hissed and shoved, but it was too late. She farted in my face.
I laid there, my hands over my face, shaking my head. Star was hysterical with laughter, snorting every few seconds at the effort to keep quiet.
"Geez, I'm a fucking idiot," I muttered, laughing at myself.
She climbed back next to me, and set her head down on the pillow, little giggles and chuckling bursts erupting every so often.
A minute or so later, she said, "I could teach you, you know."
"What? How to fart like you?" I asked, annoyed.
"No, dumbass, how to give Esther pleasure."
"Oh," I muttered. "What do you mean?"
She rolled on her side as I did, and we were face to face. "I know women's bodies, brother mine. I've had all different kinds. I can show you what to do. She'll be begging you for more."
"What, like, you're sitting in there with us? Beside our bed?"
"No, I...I mean, I guess I could do that, but that's not what I was thinking. I was thinking more like private lessons for you. Just the two of us."
I swallowed, imagining her scenario. I hadn't responded, but I saw her face unfurl a huge smile as she watched me. She said, "Even if you say no, you're thinking yes."
Then, a new thought occurred to me, and Star's smile vanished as she watched my eyes.
"What?" she asked.
"Star, what if Esther...what if all this time, how she doesn't like sex with me and...what if she just doesn't like men?"
Star looked like she was thinking.
I went on. "That book has changed her. She doesn't seem to care about her rules anymore. Drinking wine? Letting you touch her, finger her, lick her? She's a different person now. What if today made her think she might be a lesbian?"
"I've thought about that."
"What'd you think?"
"She seemed really excited."
"I know. Did you see the way she was looking at you?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"She was like a teenage girl in 1960, and you were Elvis Presley."
"I know. And she was wet. Really wet."
"She was?"
"Yes. Girls, I mean, we can get a little bit wet easily. When I felt her, remembering what you described, I knew she was really excited. She wanted it. It was a whole other level of wet."
"Shit."
"And it didn't take much convincing, did it?"
"No," I said. "Do you think she is?"
"Until today, I would've said absolutely not, but now, I don't know. Fifty-fifty?"
I took this answer with a grim sigh. "Look, Star, if Esther is going to go that route—I don't know how you feel about it—but I would want it to be with you. I can't imagine her leaving the apartment and spending her evening with some woman I don't even know."
Star searched my eyes and finally replied, "You wouldn't be mad?"
"I'd be sad. I'd be jealous, I suppose, but it's way better than the alternative. How would you feel about it?"
"She's very sexy. Don't be mad, but I really do want her. You saw that today."
I nodded. "You have my permission to...to help her explore her feelings, if you think that it will help."
"Really?"
"Yeah," I said, "I really just want her to be happy, that's all." I laid there for a few moments looking past Star at the door of the apartment. "I'm going to take another job."
"What?"
"A different job," I clarified. "On Friday, they sent all of the conductors a message—a job is opening up on the South Station-Providence line. Couple guys got busted selling drugs during their run. Anyways, the hours are shitty, and I wasn't planning on taking it, but now I think I might. It pays better, and it may give you two some freedom to see what's what."
"What would your new hours be?"
"Eight to noon, and then five to nine, roughly. Monday to Friday."
"What would you do between?"
"South Station has a gym, and it's got bunks for people to crash out in. There's cool stuff nearby, right? Chinatown...and it's not far from Downtown Crossing. I can work out, sleep, run errands."
"You'd do that for Esther and I?"
I looked at Star. "The pay is better," I argued.
"No, you're being sweet."
"No, I'm not."
"Brother mine, I know you. You've got a heart for desperate people. You're trying to help."
"So, what?"
"So, you're good."
I shook my head. Fuck, Star was hot. I was in an apartment with a gorgeous woman and an extremely hot one. I was a lucky man.
"You did the whole J and J thing for me when I was desperate. You saw how lonely and desperate Esther was in high school..."
"I was just horny, and she turned me on."
"You say that to yourself, but you know you could have gotten laid by fifty other girls. No, you're a good guy. Don't deny it."
I shrugged. "Look how far it's gotten me: living in my older sister's apartment with a wife who is probably a lesbian, and I just got my face farted on."
Star lost it, and then I started chuckling, too.
She finally said, "So, you never gave me an official answer to my proposal."
"What?"
"Esther might not be a lesbian, after all. If not, she's going to be needing you, her husband. Do you want me to teach you some tricks?"
We were facing each other, but I glanced down and saw Star's cleavage—a beautiful line of shadow, accentuated by her resting on her side, pushing those rigid tits together, and at the same time, pushing them out against the fabric of her tank top.
"Star, would you mind if..."
"No, you can touch them."
I brought my hand up and cupped one, and then the other. Fuck, they were firm, exactly as I had imagined.
"Doesn't it bother you that..."
"You're my brother?" she finished. "No, actually."
"Why not?"
"Because you're good. Because you didn't make me tell you about J and J. Because you're handsome and sexy—for a man. Because I love you, and I want you and Esther to be happy together."
"My gosh, your tits are amazing."
"I know," she said. "So, will you let me teach you?"
"When would we do it? I wouldn't want Esther to find out."
"I'll make time to help my brother...oh, my gosh. Again?" She was staring past my hand to my cock. It pressed against her tummy.
I smiled when she looked up at me.
"Mmm, well...okay," she said, getting up.
I didn't even need to ask.
"Sheesh," she muttered, scooting down to the level of my cock and pulling my shorts down over it.
Still on our sides, she kissed it, and then sucked on the tip for a moment. She looked up at me and gripped the shaft, tugging a few times. "So, will you let me teach you?" she asked.
I nodded, and she smiled and started giving me my third blowjob of the night.
I didn't last long. She stroked me with her right hand while she sucked gently on the head. She let me cum in her mouth again.
When she finished, she thanked me—yes, she thanked me—and kissed my forehead saying, "Good night, brother mine." Then, she got up and went back to her room.
The movie was still on. My eyes were watching it, but my mind was still reeling.
Blowjobs. They were like the Grand Canyon. They stopped you in your tracks. They showed you a view of the world which didn't seem possible. You got one, and you knew there was something more to life than atoms banging around.
I liked blowjobs. I wondered if I'd ever get the chance to get one from Esther.
***
End Note: Again, thanks to shygirlwhore for her editing expertise. Any remaining errors are mine, not hers. Thanks, as well, to readers. I hope the story is working for you. It wouldn't exist if you weren't out there taking the time to read. More to follow soon. -FSEsther and Star Ch. 03
Sister teaches brother how to please women.
On Monday night at dinner, I told Esther about my new hours. I would start on the Providence-South Station line on Wednesday. She was genuinely glad for me, and I couldn't help but catch her glancing at Star.
Star congratulated me and said that she and Esther would find a way to have fun without me.
That night, I put my hand on Esther's shoulder as she read in bed, and I asked her if she wanted to have sex. She said that she still wasn't ready.
Every night when I came home—which was now usually around ten o'clock, I asked her—not ready, yet.
So, every night at midnight, I went into the living room and turned on the television, waiting and hoping that Star might emerge from her bedroom. She didn't.
On Thursday night in bed, Esther sighed and said, "Fine." She rolled on her back and spread her legs under the sheets. Initially fired up, I sat up and slid under the sheets on top of her. I bent down to kiss her, but she turned her head away. I stopped and looked at her eyes. She looked like she was steeling herself for an uncomfortable medical exam. Fuck that.
I slid off of her and said, "I don't want to fuck some girl who doesn't want to fuck me."
Then, I realized I had just dropped two f-bombs. She stared at me, stunned.
"Sorry. I curse sometimes. A lot, actually. Tried to hide it from you all these years because I knew you wouldn't like it."
Esther opened her mouth as if to say something. Nothing. She closed her mouth, and an image flashed in my mind of sliding my cock in between those lips. It vanished as quickly as it appeared.
I sighed, adding, "Doesn't seem to be any point in trying to hide it any longer, so fuck it." I rolled onto my side away from her.
Anger welled up inside me. I was starting to genuinely dislike my wife. I wanted to ravage her body, though. Fuck, I wanted every part of her.
I turned over and glanced at her, seeing that long blonde hair. For years, I dreamed of wrapping it around my wrist and clutching it while I fucked her from behind.
I began to think it might never happen.
Thankfully, I thought, I wouldn't have to suffer through uncomfortable dinners during the week, but weekends would suck if it weren't for Star keeping the conversation going.
Friday, between my morning and evening runs, I went to the Barnes and Noble in Downtown Crossing—yes, my third trip to a bookstore in a matter of weeks. I was sick of spending my evenings being bored as hell, waiting for sex with Esther that seemed like it would never happen again, or waiting in desperation for Star to come back to the living room in the middle of the night to chat and suck my dick.
Also, I felt stupid. I felt like the number of times that I had looked foolish seemed to be increasing of late. Reading books made you smart, I think I heard somewhere. So, I walked around for a while, and then I found a cute, somewhat older employee and asked her what might be a hard book to read.
"I'm sorry?" she responded.
"I'm not a big reader. I barely graduated high school, actually."
The woman smiled—not condescendingly, it seemed, at my blunt honesty.
I continued, "So, I just wanted to find a good book that will be hard for me to read—a challenge, you know?"
"What kind of books do you like?"
"I don't know. None of them?"
She smiled. "How about fiction or non-fiction for starters?"
"Non-fiction is true, right?"
She nodded.
"Fiction, then. Like an English class book. A really tough one."
She walked me over to the fiction section and pulled out The Grapes of Wrath.
"No!" I almost yelled.
She looked surprised.
"Sorry," I told her, "we had that one during my senior year. I can't do that. What else?"
"Did you actually read it?"
"No."
She smiled. "Well, then, here you are." She handed it to me.
I liked her self-assurance. I took the book, nodding. "Okay."
I bought it.
That night, Esther was waiting up for me when I got home. She saw me carrying the book.
"What is that?"
"A book I'm going to read."
"Really?"
I nodded.
"Why?"
I shrugged. "Well, I'm going to be totally honest here, Ess. I'm not getting laid, and I need something to take my mind off it. Second, I've been feeling dumb. There's some things I thought I knew, but I obviously didn't. So, I'm going to read to get smarter."
"Good," she responded.
I quit getting dressed and just stared at her.
She noticed. "That's...that's not what I meant. I..."
I just gave her a look that said, "Come on, what the fuck, lady?"
She gave up.
"Esther, do I need to move out? Out of this room? Out of the apartment?"
She didn't respond. She looked like she was thinking really hard about her answer.
Fuck it. I tried to give her an out. "Esther, I'm glad that you and Star have become good friends, and I want you to know that if the time you spend with her is helping you figure things out, then I'm okay with it. I wish I could be more help, but if my sister can do it better than I can, I understand. Tell me where you need me, and that's where I'll be. Or, if it's better for you to be in her room or something, then so be it."
For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw joy in her eyes, but if it had been there, she covered it quickly and thoroughly. She said, "Thank you for saying so."
Finished dressing, I slid into bed with my new book. Reading! Yeah!
"I'm going to start a new job tomorrow," she said.
I didn't turn toward her. "Are you happy about it?"
"Yes, I wanted to feel like I was doing my part."
"You always were. Nobody ever doubted that."
"I know. I just felt like I needed something of my own."
"Then, I'm glad. What's the job?"
"Weekend mailroom at Dana-Farber. Star mentioned it to me."
"Cool. They get a lot of weekend mail?"
"Tons."
"So you sort it and run it up to the offices?"
"Yes."
Esther was going to work on Sundays? A month ago she would have considered that downright evil. "What hours?" I asked.
"Nine to five, both days."
"So sixteen hours?"
"Yeah. It's a start."
"Cool. I'm going to read now."
And I did. Reading is hard. I kept having to look up words on my phone. I decided that I needed a dictionary.
I went back to Barnes and Noble the next morning and picked one up. Same lady helped me—Diane.
Esther was all dressed up for her first day on the job, and Star and I wished her well on her way out the door.
"Well? Is she a lesbian?" I asked.
"How much does your dick weigh?"
"I don't know."
"There's your answer."
"Smart ass. Are you guys doing stuff?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
"What? You want me to give you the details? No, I'm not doing that."
"She's my wife, Star."
"I'm not your spy, shit-for-brains."
"You're seriously not going to tell me? Even after you let me watch?"
"No. These are different circumstances now. Plus, I'm already in the middle of something, and I don't want to be taking any sides. So, no."
I shook my head in disbelief.
"Besides," she said, "we've got more important things to discuss."
"Huh?"
"You're training. Remember, brother mine? It starts today."
I sighed, "What's the fucking point, Star? I should just divorce her."
Star charged three steps towards me and shoved. I didn't see it coming, so I careened and tripped backward over the end of the couch.
"Holy shit!" I said as my legs and my torso switched places. My shoulder hit the floor first, and my ass rolled over my head. I pushed myself up.
Star's hand was covering her mouth. "Oh, shit. Sorry! Are you okay?"
"Will you fucking settle down, Star? Fuck!"
"I didn't mean to push you that hard," she explained. "But, you better not give up on Esther, brother mine."
"She's fucking you now! I'm kicked to the curb! Better I just end it and clear a path for you two."
"I told you: I don't think I'm a true lesbian! Besides, we might be fucking, but I'm not trying to steal her from you, dumbass. I'm trying to get her to be able to enjoy sex and talk about it. I'm hoping that I can advance her along and get her back to wanting you—get her to...to the cock phase of sexual pleasure, okay?"
I stared at her, mouthing the words "cock phase." Then, I doubled over, laughing.
She did, too.
I was cackling so much that I was barely able to yell, "You're a fucking idiot, you know that?"
She stumbled over to me and slapped my back, holding her tummy with her other hand. "'Cock phase!' It was ridiculous, wasn't it?"
I nodded, and a minute or so later, after a few more rounds and burst of laughter, we were wiping our eyes.
She said, "Don't give up, though, okay? I'll tell you when you need to be worried."
"Okay. So, what did you say we're going to do, now?"
She got excited. "Oh, yeah! So, today's your first day of training."
I nodded, starting to get excited. Sex lessons from Star? Oh, baby. "What do you want me to do?"
"Wait, I have to tell you what our goal for today is."
I looked at her and waited.
"Today, you're learning how to talk to and spend time with a woman to make her feel like you're interested and to make her like you."
"What?" I responded, floored.
"Maybe we'll get to kissing, but today is dating," she said, like it was the most natural, expected thing in the world.
"Dating? Star, I know how to date and talk to girls. I got Esther to marry me, remember? I thought you were going to teach me how to pleasure women."
"There's no sex without the first part, dumbass. Women aren't like men. All of those things, even the dates and the conversations, are part of the build-up. The sex is just the final act."
"But, I already know the dating and conversation!"
"This is the way, brother mine, or I won't help you."
I glared at her, and then relented, shaking my head. "Okay, what do you want me to do?"
"You're taking me out to dinner—lunch, I mean. So, dress nicely. I'm going to go change, too."
"Where do you want to eat?"
She thought for a few moments and said, "You know, I haven't had good barbecue since back home. I want some pulled pork—a good pulled pork sandwich."
"Star, this is Boston. Is there any good barbecue in all of fucking New England?"
She simply said, "It's your job to find it, Hatrick."
"I'm Hatrick again?"
"And I'll be Stella. Hatrick and Stella are going on a date."
"Can I be another name?"
"No, Hatrick. Go get dressed." When I turned toward my bedroom, she called out, "Nicely!"
I grabbed my phone and began searching for a good barbecue place in Boston. There were quite a few places, I was surprised to learn. I didn't want anything downtown. Downtown would be expensive; it would be run by people who wanted to buy their way into good barbecue. I was looking for a backyard place—a place with some stank. I decided on Redbones out near Davis Square in Somerville. Looked like they had some good beers, too.
I put on khaki pants and a collared navy shirt. I threw on some deodorant and a drop of cologne. I combed my hair with my fingers, and then I went and waited for Star.
Fifteen minutes later, she emerged. Her hair was pulled back in a super tight ponytail. The tail, itself, had big, bouncy curls. She wore gold earrings with black dangling jewels. She'd put makeup on her eyes, and her lips were absolutely glistening. It was like she'd had them varnished. They looked full and very, very wet.
Her dress stopped me cold. It was a simple summer dress, inch wide straps hanging on her shoulders. The neck was low. It was completely black, but had a huge orange flower print that wrapped around her left side. It went down to about mid-thigh. Black high-heels made her legs look stunningly long.
That dress, though, wow. It hung on her shoulders and just flowed from there. The material seemed paper-thin and very lightweight. The dress begged to be lifted up, over her thighs and tummy, over her head, and dropped on the floor. It was so flimsy that she had to have felt virtually naked underneath it.
"Zip me?" she asked, turning around.
I saw the black bra band in the center of her very tan, very smooth back. I walked over and zipped her up, careful to make sure I felt her skin just a little.
She turned around and said, "Now, the first thing, on seeing your date..."
"Star, you look absolutely beautiful."
"Stella."
"Right. Stella, every man in Boston is going to be jealous of me toni...uh...this afternoon."
She smiled. "That's pretty good." Her fingers reached up and touched her neck. "Oh, wait, almost forgot." She turned and walked back to her room.
I caught a glimpse of her cleavage when her hand went up. Damn. And she smelled like women and sex—at least, that's what I thought of when I caught the scent of her perfume.
She came back holding a necklace—a thin, gold collar-style one with a black teardrop jewel. "Put this on for me?"
She turned around, and I moved next to her body, smelling her. Her butt just grazed my front as I reached around her neck. I felt the super soft skin when I latched the tiny clip.
I was getting hard.
She turned around and looked me up and down. "You look very nice, too, Hatrick." Fuck, we were close.
"Thanks."
We were less than a foot apart. Star was stunningly beautiful, and she seemed genuinely happy. We looked at each other for a beat.
She said, "It is a date, and I am your girl, so you may kiss me before..."
I was kissing her. Not hard. Very, very softly, like she was something I absolutely cherished. Her lips were hardcore pornography. I am not shitting. I broke the kiss off, gently, before I completely lost control of myself.
Star opened her eyes and stared at me. She muttered, "I didn't even get a chance to teach you how to do it." Her chest was rising and falling. She searched my eyes and said, "Do that again."
I kissed her and pulled her close, my cock pressed against her belly. She opened her mouth, and my tongue instantly filled the space. Her hands ran up my chest, over my shoulders, and along the muscles of my back. Then, they divided. One was in the hair on the back of my head, the other down my lower back and on my ass.
My hands caressed her face, and then her breasts. Her dress felt like it was made of some ultra-thin silk. Her tits were rigid underneath. I held each breast in my hands and softly squeezed, letting my fingers and thumbs enjoy and savor their weight. Through her dress and bra, Star's tits felt like the skin was barely containing the bulging flesh underneath.
I let go of her breasts, and lifted the bottom hem of her dress. I gripped her ass with one hand and caressed her pussy through her panties with the other.
She was wet.
Still kissing with an intensity I'd never felt before, I picked her up by the hips and took her to the couch. I sat her down and pulled her ass to the front edge. Her panties were off in moments. I knelt between her legs. She gasped into my tongue. I rubbed her pussy again, and easily slid a finger inside her.
Still kissing, I unbuckled my belt and took down my pants and boxers. I grabbed my cock and brought it to her pussy.
I broke the kiss to watch my cock open her up. I wiggled the tip between her soft lips and armed my hips for a long and gentle thrust.
"No!" she gasped. "No. No. Please, no. Stop."
I waited and looked up at her.
She was panting, and she looked unbelievably sexy. "It's too...we can't...no."
I drew back from her and nodded.
She put her feet on the floor and scooted her ass back into the couch, still drawing rapid breaths. "Okay," she huffed, "Okay, you're good at kissing. We maybe can skip some of the introductory material."
I was sitting on my heels. We caught our breaths, just looking at each other.
Star glanced down at my cock. "Down boy," she said, smiling and giggling.
I shook my head. "Doesn't work that way, you know. Wish it did, sometimes."
After looking up at me, she stared at my cock for a bit, and then nodded, saying, "You're not going to be able to focus with that thing like that. Stand up."
I did.
"Come here."
I took a step towards her, and she put her hands on my ass and drew me closer.
"We'll call this a 'down boy.' It'll be for when you're too preoccupied to be taught anything."
She grabbed the base, pulled it down her mouth, and then I watched those full wet lips open and take me in. I was getting a blowjob from the sexiest, most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and she was my sister.
I filled her mouth a few minutes later.
She took her panties and went back to her bedroom for a few minutes. When she came back out, we left.
Redbones was pretty dang good. I had a brisket sandwich; she got her pulled pork. Our conversation began with lessons about talking to girls. Ask her questions, she said. Not too personal, but ones to get her talking about things that made her happy. Come up, Star advised me, with a bunch before you even go out. Be interested, she said, and above all, listen to what she says. Even better than the first questions are the follow-up questions to something interesting she says. It shows you're listening.
It didn't take long for our conversation to move on. We talked about Mom and Dad, about good times at home and school and out in town from childhood. We laughed a lot.
I really enjoyed how every fucking guy in the place was staring at my date. Yeah, mother fuckers, I thought, you wish you were me.
"When was the last time you took Esther on a date like this?"
"Go out to eat? Hell, like a couple weeks ago."
"Not just going out to eat, dumbass. Getting dressed up to go out to eat. Having a conversation where you ask her questions and listen to her. A date."
"Oh," I said. I thought about it and nodded. "It's been a while."
"It needs to be formal. That's the critical part of it. You're kind of taking her out to show off her beauty to others, see? And then the other big part is the listening, okay?"
"Okay," I said. "And thank you."
It was nearing 3:30 when we got back to the apartment.
"Is that the end of the date, Stella?"
"Yes."
"May I kiss you goodnight?"
"Yes, but not so passionately this time. A simple kiss."
"A peck?"
"No, more like a wedding kiss. A you-may-kiss-the-bride kiss. Not too short, not too long."
I held her waist and the back of her neck, and I kissed her. As before, I poured everything into trying to be as soft as I could. I wanted full contact, but gentle contact. I wanted to feel Star's lips with mine. I broke it off at the moment I wanted to extend it forever. Shit.
She stared at me. "Do you kiss Esther like that?"
I thought about it, and the realization hit me hard. "Honestly? Not in a long time."
"Why not?"
"We didn't really kiss when we fucked. I'd kiss her neck and stuff a little bit, but not really her lips. Weird, I guess."
"Not weird, brother mi...Hatrick. A problem."
"Yeah?"
She nodded. "You must always kiss her before and, if the position is right, a lot during sex, too. Especially with Esther, I would say. She needs a lot of kissing."
"Show me how you kiss," I said.
Star smirked at me, but she stepped to me, put her hands on my shoulders and drew me down to her lips. When she drew away, she said, "That's a wedding kiss."
"What about a during sex kiss? What do you do then?"
"Like this," she said, and when our lips met, her tongue dipped into my mouth. I felt it lick my tongue over and again. My whole body loved that kiss. She pulled away too soon.
"Wow. You kiss Esther that way?"
She nodded. "A kiss should tell a guy everything he needs to know about what to do next. It's like reading a book. You've got to read the kiss."
"Explain that."
"Well, for starters, you've got to kiss softly—at first. You're kissing to feel how she feels. If she's soft back to you, then she wants to be seduced. If she comes at you harder, then she want to seduce you."
I nodded. Made sense.
She continued, "What she does with her tongue will tell you a lot. If she's soft on the kiss and giving you some tongue, she may be asking for your tongue. So, you give her a little at a time. If she keeps taking it, then she wants you to take her. You can kiss harder. The harder she lets you kiss her and the more tongue she takes, the harder she wants to be taken. But she may send you signals that she wants to keep it soft. She may give you as much tongue as she takes. That would tell you that she wants togetherness and closeness. Definitely don't take her from behind."
"And if she's hard and giving me all of her tongue?"
"Let her use your body as her playground. She'll probably suck your cock and then get on top of you and go for a ride."
"What about kisses that stay soft the whole time?"
"Then be gentle with her. Read her lips and tongue to decide if you need to take charge or if she does."
I shook my head in wonder. "I had no idea that kissing was so complex."
"Because you've got no experience. Let's practice. We'll kiss. You feel and decide what to do. After, you can tell me what I wanted."
We kissed. Star was more aggressive. I tried to match her, and I felt her draw away. I pursued, and she broke the kiss.
"Well?' She asked.
"You wanted my body? Hard kiss, lots of tongue?"
"Yes, but when you tried to match me—hard for hard—did you feel me pull back a little?"
"Yeah."
"That means I didn't want you to match me. I wanted you to submit to me. You needed to soften and let my tongue in."
"Oh." I said, and then something occurred to me. "But, Star...shit, Stella. Esther doesn't know all this shit. None of it will work with her."
"Girls are born knowing it, dumbass. It's only boys who need to learn."
"Don't boys send signals, too?"
"Right, but you only have two signals, really: now and right fucking now. Here, try again."
We kissed, and she was supremely soft. I put my tongue in her mouth, and she let me. I got a little bit more aggressive, and she let me. Soon, I was attacking her lips and mouth. Star broke the kiss.
"That one was too easy," she said.
"Soft and letting me get aggressive. You wanted me to take charge?"
"Yes. I was giving you my body. You take it," she said. "Now, I'll make it a little more challenging."
We kissed. She was soft, again. Fuck, it felt good on my lips, and I gradually increased again to attack mode. Star broke it off.
"You can't just go aggressive every time, dumbass!" she yelled, and she glanced down at my crotch. She deflated. The anger left her. "Oh. Well, no duh."
I was achingly hard.
She came over. "Down boy time, again, Hatrick?"
I shrugged. "Stella has very sexy kisses."
"This isn't easy for me to do, you know. My jaw was really sore the other night."
"We could do something else."
"No."
She worked her fingers on my buckle, button, and zipper. Soon, my dick sprang out.
"Stella, why do you always swallow the cum if you don't like it?"
"I don't hate it."
"But, same question."
"It's just easier. It's easier than having it go everywhere or keeping tissues handy or running to the sink or the toilet to spit it out."
"You could jerk me off into the sink, like before."
"Yeah, I know. Is that what you want?"
"No, but what do you want?"
She held it firmly in her hand and looked at it. "I want to suck it."
"Why?"
"I like how it feels in my mouth," she said, and she saw my look and tried to explain. "I don't know. It feels like power. It makes me feel like I can control something savage and strong. I don't ever feel that with women, only with men. And with you it's so much more, really. Having your cock in my mouth makes me feel like I'm taming a beast. You're like a wild animal that can hurt me, but I soothe you and make you love me."
"What about when you're with women?"
"No more talking, Hatrick." Her lips clutched the shaft and rode it, back and forth.
Having never licked a pussy, I wondered if it was the same for boys—if I'd feel like I was taming a wild beast. If not, it didn't seem fair. The utter satisfaction she was giving me could not be put into words. It was a gift that could not be repaid.
I watched her ponytail sway, felt the warm coating of saliva let her lips slide along my length. She built me up rapidly. I watched her stop when the first rush left my body. Her lips pursed on me, and she sucked and kissed the cum from me.
When it was over, I stretched my arms up and out from my body and groaned like a bear. When I looked back down, Star was sitting on her heels, smiling up at me. "That was fast, Hatrick."
"You're incredibly sexy, Stella."
"Think you can learn some more now?"
I nodded.
I practiced interpreting kisses for another fifteen minutes, at the end of which I was just starting to get hard again, but Star didn't notice before she ended our session. I went to my room, changed my clothes, and slugged through a few more pages of my book.
That night, Esther moved out of our bedroom and into Star's. She said she needed space and time away from me. She said Star invited her. I wasn't a dick about it. I even helped her.
"Do you love her?" I asked, standing in our bedroom with an armful of clothes.
"What? What do you mean?"
"Star. I know you're doing things with her. I can tell. Do you love her?"
She shook her head, as if irritated by the question, and as she walked past me, I leaned toward her and said, "I'm not divorcing you, Esther. I love you." I didn't. I kind of hated her guts at this point. The only thing keeping me in that fucking apartment was Star. "If you need to divorce me, I won't make a fuss over it. I want what's best for you."
She blinked at me, surprised, and then walked out without a word.
I thought, Star is fucking insane if she thinks Esther is ever, ever coming back to me.
That night I read and thought. I read about a turtle crossing the street in Grapes of Wrath—I'm not shitting. I thought about reading women's signals. There was, I decided, some truth in what Star was teaching me. You could learn something from reading how a girl kissed.
Reading and learning. They were actually kind of important.
***
After Esther left on Sunday afternoon for work, Star emerged from her room. I asked, "How's the new roommate?"
"Sweet and forlorn. Tender and loving." She looked at me sadly, and said, "I'm sorry, brother mine, but your wife is infatuated with me."
"Fuck it, I don't care. What phase are we on today, Stella?"
She smiled. "Touching."
"Okay, touching. Where do we begin?"
"Your room, but this will be a short one. I'm catching a train to New York tonight. Come on."
She walked in front of me. She was wearing a pink tank-top and tiny gray shorts that hugged her powerful little ass. I followed her.
She turned to me in her room and said, "Sit down."
I did.
She sat beside me. "First thing to know about touching is that, unlike guys, a woman's entire body can be used to get her ready for sex. Too many guys go straight for the tits or pussy."
"Entire body? A girl's eyeballs? Come on."
"You don't believe me?"
"No. No one wants their eyeballs touched."
She gave me an exasperated look and then got on her knees behind me on the bed. Her body was close. "Close your eyes," she said, softly.
I did, and Star placed her palms on my temples, and the fingertips of her index and middle fingers began to rub my eyes extremely delicately. It was an eyeball massage.
"Oh, shit," I muttered. It felt good. Fuck, her fingertips were soft.
"Will you listen now?"
"Give me a few more minutes."
She stopped and slapped me on the head. "Dumbass. I've failed to get through to you the critical difference between how you—guys—think about sex and how women do."
"Who cares?"
"Brother mine, it's the most important thing there is. This is the only lesson that matters. Everything else can be figured out from this one point, okay?"
"Okay, okay."
"Since you don't have any of your own to tell, I want you to tell me a sex story that one of your friends has told you."
"Why?"
"Just do it!"
So I did. I told her the story one of my friends—same guy who let me pole vault, actually—told me. It was his first time. It was after a football game. He met up with his girlfriend. She was still wearing her cheerleading uniform. They were in her basement, and her parents were upstairs. They had to be really, really quiet. I ripped through the story quickly.
Star nodded. "My turn," she said.
Then, she told a sex story. Hers was significantly longer. It took place, I gathered, not all that long ago. She was dancing at Centerfolds, and there was a big group all lined up around the bar. One of them was this woman, Star said, probably in her forties, maybe even low fifties. She was dressed in an expensive silk business suit, and she'd come with a bunch of men, also in suits, most of them younger. The woman drank and watched Star while the men roared and hooted all around her.
These were attorneys, Star knew, from one of the big firms over at International Place, but it was the first time she'd ever seen this woman. These high-powered suits came out sometimes, and they paid very, very well. It was going to be a good night.
The woman, Star noticed, began quietly urging the boys around her to tip Star, and they did. Star came over, picked up her tip and danced for them. Every time, Star said, she was watching the woman, and the woman was watching her.
When her dance ended, Star went to the loft and...
I had to stop her. "Star," I interrupted, "Get to the good part. Fuck! How long is this story going to take?"
"See!" she said with triumph. "This is the difference."
"What?"
"For guys, a sex story is just about the sex. I mean, sure, you mention the setting, but you get to the sex really quickly."
"Because the sex is what a sex story is about."
"Stop," she ordered. "Think about it for a second, dumbass. Think about the difference between your story and mine. What does that difference tell you about how women view sex and how men do?"
I quit arguing and stared at Star for a moment. Then, I scratched my chin and said, "Your story included all of the build-up. Mine kind of glossed over that."
"Right, so how does that difference..."
I raised my hand: shut up and let me think. "Women think of sex stories as including everything, from the time you met to the time you cum."
"Yes!" she said with enthusiasm. "But, all this, what we're talking about, it isn't just about how we tell the stories. It's about how we think of sex." She raised her hands and shook them—forget what I just said, she was saying. "How we think about sex is evident in how we tell sex stories."
"The whole night is the sex? Even the eating dinner and the movie? On a date, I mean?"
"Yes!"
I shook my head. "Star, plenty of dates don't end up in sex. It doesn't make sense, what you're saying."
"The actual sex makes everything leading up to it a part of it," she argued.
I looked at her doubtfully.
She said, "Look, think about a football season, okay?"
I nodded.
"At the end of the season, say you lose the championship game. You're going to talk about how all the practice and weightlifting and hard work—how it all wasn't good enough, right? How you should have done more? That fair?"
"Yeah."
"Now think if you'd won the game—won the championship. You're going to talk about how everything you did leading up to the game was all a part of it. How you couldn't have done it without all the hard work. Am I right?"
"Yeah, I suppose."
"Same thing for women and sex. If the night ends in sex—good sex, championship sex—then everything before it—the meeting, the asking out, the date, the food, the touching, the kissing, everything becomes a part of the sex for women. Everything contributes to the championship."
I snorted a little laugh and said, "Pretty good one, Star. I like that."
"Thanks," she said, smiling. Then, she got serious again. "But, do you see my main point?"
"I think so."
"No thinking. Know it for sure: everything you do is a part of the sex. You have to think of it that way, from the moment you meet to the moment you fall asleep in each other's arms, exhausted from all the fucking."
"All the championship fucking," I clarified, smiling.
She laughed. "Do you get it now? Can you think the way women do?"
I said, "I'll try." I wanted to get back to the touching, but another thought occurred to me. "Star, don't girls get sick of guys who always do shit right, though?"
"What do you mean?"
"You say everything is a part of the sex. You say—and I've heard it before—the girl needs to feel sexy and desired. Say I do all of that. Won't I still fail? Don't girls want the mystery man? Doesn't there need to be mixed signals: I like you...no, I don't...yes, I do...no I don't. Isn't that part of seduction or whatever?"
She nodded at me, impressed. "You're getting smarter, dumbass. That's a good question."
"So?"
"It's not just about mixed signals or playing hard to get, but an element of mystery or risk makes it better, more exciting. That's true."
"Risk?"
"Think about the story I was telling you—the older woman—before you interrupted."
"Yeah?"
"I'd never seen her before. The men all followed her in. You could tell that she was the leader of the pack. She was elegant and professional. She looked like she talked to senators all day. She looked rich, but she was watching me. I was her target. She let all the boys leer and holler. She didn't care. She knew—the minute she saw me—that we would be fucking that night."
"What's her risk?"
"I was the mystery or the forbidden fruit or whatever. I was half her age, and I was a stripper. Powerful people don't go after strippers; they go after supermodels."
I nodded, seeing her point.
She continued, "And for me, there was definitely a forbidden aspect to it. She was Mom's age. It was like sleeping with one of Mom's friends or something."
"That doesn't freak you out?"
"Dumbass, we left freak out behind us the minute I gave you a lap dance."
I sighed. She was right, of course.
"So, to answer your question, never once did that woman send me mixed signals. It was all yes, all the way, and it was some of the hottest sex as I've ever had." Star watched me take this information in, and then she asked, "What do you care, though? You're married."
I shrugged. "I just wanted to understand."
She sighed. "Okay, then: touching. Ready?"
I nodded.
Star laid down on my bed and told me to make her body feel good with my hands and without ever touching her boobs or her pussy. I asked her about her ass.
She thought about it, and then said, "You can touch my butt, but not my butthole, okay?"
I laughed at her, but I wasn't sure why. "Can I take off your clothes?"
"No."
So, I started at her feet and worked my way up. She stopped me at her thighs, about five minutes in, just below her ass. I was rock hard, and she sat up, not noticing. I was disappointed. I wanted a down boy.
"You've got good hands, okay? Technique will not be an issue, but here's the two keys: first, you have to read her reactions, just like in kissing. She'll arch her back, she'll tilt up her neck, she'll relax her shoulders, she'll moan, she'll spread her legs, she'll do all kinds of things to tell you what she likes."
"More reading?"
She nodded.
"Okay, what's the second key?"
"You also have to do what makes you get harder."
"Really? Touch what I like?"
"Yes, she'll feel your cock against her. She'll know that you think she's sexy. And even when you're not against her body, they way you touch her will tell her that you're hot for her. It will. There's no mistaking it. Girls will know. I know that you're hard right now, and you didn't touch me with it."
"Okay, so when did I get hard?" I asked her, challenging her theory.
"I think it probably started when you were on my calves, but I could tell the best when you were just under my ass."
"Fuck!" She was right. "How did you know?"
"The way you breathed. The way you touched me. I could just tell you liked it."
I shook my head in amazement, saying, "So, touch her and read her, but...?"
"...but touch her where you really want to, where it will make you hotter and harder," she finished.
"But not her pussy or her tits?"
"Definitely not at first, you have to work up to those areas."
"Shit."
"Wait, don't forget that her kiss might tell you to go straight for those places. Or her kiss might tell you to leave it all to her. She'll handle the touching."
"Oh, yeah."
"And, brother mine—Hatrick, most of the time you're going to be kissing while you're touching. So, you're on double duty."
"Fuck, Star! That's like fucking sex calculus! Nobody can do that!"
She raised her hand at me, saying, "Settle down. Settle down."
I waited.
"Read the kiss first. Go ahead and touch her, but don't read the touches until you've read the kiss. Once you've got the kiss, then you can worry about the touching."
I sighed and nodded. "That's better, damn it."
Star smiled, she slid on her side and patted the bed. "Lay beside me."
I did.
"Don't touch, yet. Just read the kiss, and then tell me."
I nodded, leaning close, and Star just melted into my kiss. Fuck, it was hot. Her mouth was active, but not forceful. I added a touch of aggression, and I felt her back away. I ramped it down, and then we were kissing perfectly. I knew.
I broke away. "You were matching me, but you wanted soft for soft."
She nodded.
I continued, "Togetherness, being the same with each other, right?"
"Right. Good job, brother...Hatrick!" She punched me in the chest and asked, "So how would you touch me?"
"I'd go for the places I want to touch—not the really good places, yet—and I guess I would expect that you might do the same, touch me, I mean."
"Come on, Hatrick" she urged me, and we were kissing again.
Her little hands reached under my shirt and lifted. I helped her. We broke the kiss for an instant, and my shirt was off.
I did the same to her, but I decided to leave the bra on for now. While her hand rubbed my chest and stomach, I ran my fingers along the back of her head, deep in her hair, feeling her neck and scalp, feeling her silky hair slip between my fingers. I massaged right where her head and neck came together.
Star's hand slid up to my shoulder and she squeezed. I ran mine down her back to her ass. I felt its perfect curve, its mass and strength through her shorts. I pulled away and slid my hand up her thigh, under her panties. My fingers glided over the hilltop of one cheek; my fingertips slid along her crack. Her skin, warm and soft, thrummed under my hand. Like her breasts, Star's ass was packed tight, and the skin covering it seemed to barely hold the flesh underneath.
She broke the kiss and whispered, "You're hard now, aren't you?" Her hand slid down my chest to my shorts. She slid it underneath the waistband and ran her fingertips along the length of my cock.
I nodded, clutched her ass, and my imagination raced away.
"So, Hatrick is a butt guy, eh?"
"For yours? Sure."
"I bet you like Esther's, too."
"Let's not talk about her," I said. Kneading and clutching Star's ass like a kid with his favorite stuffed animal. Star's fingers kept gliding up and down on me.
I let go of her butt and slid my shorts off, and then I rolled Star on her belly. I hooked my index fingers under her shorts and panties, yanking them down.
Straddling her legs, I glanced down, seeing my cock jutting out over Star's ass. I reached down and clutched her ass. Kneading it, I spread her wide and squished her together a few times, catching glimpses of her pussy and her little asshole.
I slid my hands under her hips and lifted. Her ass bent up; her tummy remained against the mattress. Star was presenting her ass to me, arching it at my cock. I gasped at what I saw. My mind exploded with lust.
I grabbed my cock with one hand. With the other, I grasped her thigh, just under her ass, and squeezed. Her bare little pussy appeared, and I lowered my dick towards it.
"Stop," she muttered.
"I don't want to," I said, and the head of my cock pressed against her.
"Stop. I'll take care of you."
"I don't want a blowjob right now." I pushed, and the tip began to slip inside her.
"Stop. Now."
I did.
"I'm not going to give you a blowjob," she said, soothingly. My cock slipped out of her when she rose up to on her knees. She scooted back, and the shaft rode up her back.
She twisted her back and, though her body faced forward, she looked up at me. "Trust me," she said. I felt her fingers wrap around my erection, and she faced forward.
Star angled my cock down, wiggling it between the cheeks of her ass. The tip was snug inside, lodged just above her anus.
"Uh, Star?"
"Leave it right there," she whispered.
She let go of my cock, and then the muscles of her ass suddenly gripped the head of my cock with incredible strength.
"Oh, damn," I uttered.
She pitched forward, resting her chest on the bed. Then, she reached between her legs and, taking hold of my cock, she began massaging and stroking it.
I felt her ass relax, and then suddenly flex again, clutching the plum head of it between those two incredibly feminine and curvy cheeks.
To any observer, the first thought would be that we were fucking doggy style. Upon second glance, the same observer would have decided I was fucking her ass. Yes, my dick was in her butt, though not inside it. I had no idea what to call this sex position.
She continued to contract and relax the muscles of her ass on the tip. All the while, her strong little fingers stroked, coaxed, and massaged my cock.
"Look at me," I grunted.
She twisted around, letting go of the shaft, and I kissed her lips. She opened her mouth and let me lick her tongue. I reached around her body and grasped her tits.
The tip of my cock had ridden down a little, and when I felt it pressing against Star's butthole, hot blood pumped through me. I grunted into Star's mouth and squeezed her breasts into my fingers.
She broke the kiss and grabbed my cock, stroking even faster. Her ass flexed and held there. I groaned, deep and long, and then I felt my cum squirt into the tight space. It lubricated our connection, but Star held me in place as more and more semen coated her asshole.
Suddenly, she let me go and fell to her stomach. I watched the final shots land on her ass and the last dribble seep out from the tip. I grabbed my cock and wiped it on her ass, and then I sat back on my heels.
Star was belly-down and spread wide. I gazed at the perfection of her butt with streaks and globs of cum covering her cheeks and asshole. I watched a small pool slip down toward her little pussy until she rolled over, sat up, and asked, "How was that, Hatrick?"
I shook my head in wonder, and then I collapsed on the bed, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under my head.
She laughed and laid beside me.
"When's your train?"
She peered over my head at the clock on my nightstand. "I should go in an hour or so."
"What's going on in New York?"
"Just work—some meetings with our ad reps."
I nodded. "When will you be back?"
"Thursday, but I'm hoping Wednesday night."
"Esther know?"
She nodded.
***
Star left that night before Esther got home. We ate separately. Later, I knocked on the door to Star's room.
"Come in."
I did.
Esther was reading in bed.
"I need to update your Mom," I said. "It's been more than two weeks, and I'm feeling guilty. Can you help me, like before?"
Strangely, I was the only resource for Esther's family to receive news on her. Since she was disfellowshipped, they could not talk to her or read anything written to them by her. But, I wasn't disfellowshipped; I wasn't even a member. They wanted me to send them emails.
Esther's father didn't care for me at all. So, I sent the emails to Esther's mother, Astrid. What Esther and I had done in the past is I'd have Esther sit beside me and tell me what to write, and I'd type it up and send it. When her Mom responded, I'd just let Esther read it privately.
Esther said, "Just write it for me, and I'll read it before you send it, okay?"
I drew my head back, surprised, and said, "You're not going to help me write a note to your family?"
"Please," she almost yelled, "I can't."
I grabbed our laptop, took it to my room and typed. Not particularly liking to write, it took a while.
Dear Astrid,
I'm sorry I haven't written sooner. Things have been a little bit crazy here. I'm going to be blunt. Just a warning.
Esther and I separated. Not formally, though. A few weeks back, she read a book that really opened her eyes. She's pretty upset at me for being her husband and wanting to have sex with her. (I admit I was doing a really crummy job at sex, but I'm trying to learn and do better.) So, we are no longer sleeping in the same bed.
There are a bunch of other changes, as well. Esther got a job running the mailroom at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute on weekends. She seems happy to be working and contributing, and I'm sure she does a great job. I think she may have drunk some alcohol. She has moved into my sister's room, and best I can tell, they are having a lot of lesbian sex together.
Just so you know, I always thought you were fantastically beautiful. You may be twenty-five years older than me, but you've still got it, Astrid. I always felt a little pleasant jolt throughout my body whenever you touched me. I mention this because I don't think I'll ever see you again, and I say it as a compliment, and I'm being brutally honest. I thought it might mean something to you to know that you still make young men dream.
In case you're worried, I still love Esther and hope we can patch things up and move forward. I'd love to be able to fill your arms with a bunch of grandchildren someday. I very much want Esther to be happy. She won't like this note, but she doesn't talk to me anymore. I really don't know what she wants. So, I figured I'd be honest.
I hope you're doing well, along with the rest of the family. We think of you all the time and miss you very much.
One quick final question, are Witnesses really prohibited from doing it doggy style? Do try and answer that one. I'm very interested.
I signed it with love and called Esther into the room.
She sat at the small desk and read while I sat on the bed, watching her. I saw when she realized this letter wasn't full of the old routine bullshit—her body froze for a moment. I watched her back rise and fall with increasing panic as she continued reading. I heard her suck in a breath.
I wasn't smiling or taking any pleasure in her reaction. She asked me to type the note, and I thought I'd write one that told the fucking truth. I was being a dick, I know, but it was easier for me to do it this way than to tell her she was being a stupid bitch.
I didn't expect what happened next.
Esther flew out of the chair at me, slapping me in the face. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Her eyes were red with rage and she cursed me, called me a "bastard." Five times she hit me. She was connecting on my cheekbone, and it stung. Six times. She told me she hated me. Seven.
She didn't seem to like it that I just let her slap away at my face.
I didn't mean to let her. If someone had told me she was going to hit me—and I had believed them—I probably would have blocked her right away, and then pinned her arms to her sides and marched her ass out of the room. I just didn't expect it. I was so stunned by Esther being violent that I just took it. I wasn't angry; I was in awe.
A thought occurred to me at some point, and after she hit me the eighth time, I said, "Esther!" She stopped with her hand cocked for a ninth strike. Very slowly, I turned my face, presenting my other cheek for her to swat. "Here's the other one for you," I said.
She lowered her hand and stormed out of the room. I heard her scream and cry from Star's room.
I slid a note under her door: "Haven't sent it, yet. Feel free to revise." I signed it with love and left to get a beer.
At the Cask & Flagon Bar about 15 minutes later, I took a long drink of my Bud Light and then held it on my left cheek for a while.
I had two beers. During the second one, I knew I needed to go back and check on her. My own shock and anger had briefly hidden the fact that Esther had no-shit freaked out. This wasn't some pathetic tizzy. Something in her broke.
It was just after ten when I walked into the apartment. I knocked on Star's door.
Nothing.
I knocked harder.
Nothing. Shit.
I opened the door.
Esther was sitting on the floor, her back against the foot of Star's bed. I came in and sat down on the floor across from her, under Star's taped-together rainbow unicorn poster.
"You okay?" I asked.
She looked up at me. "I sent the email."
I nodded.
"I didn't change anything."
My eyes popped. "Shut the fuck up. No you didn't." My words came out fast, full of disbelief.
She slowly nodded.
A big chuckle just exploded from me, and I stared at her, astonished, with my jaw hanging open. Esther smiled. I laughed, and then she started laughing, too.
Esther's joy seemed a little over the top—like it was wracked with nerves. It ended abruptly, and an uncomfortable silence remained.
She finally said, "I'm sorry I hit you."
"I'm sorry I was a dick about it."
"So, you think my Mom's hot?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Not as hot as you, but yes."
"She was always very touchy with you. It really annoyed me. I saw her put her hand on your...your ass once—when you were hugging."
Esther was trying out curse words. "Ass"—I'd never once heard her say it, and it didn't sound natural for her, yet.
I nodded, remembering. "She didn't grab me or anything, but I remember her hand sort of slipping down and lingering there."
She nodded. "I miss her. I miss them all."
Esther's parents had two children, both girls. Esther was the youngest. "I didn't understand, Esther—when you got disfellowshipped. I screwed up. I didn't see it for what was. I didn't think of it as if you were losing your family. I guess...I guess I figured no parent would ever just ignore their kid, you know? I'm sorry I didn't get it."
She sniffed, nodding again.
"If I divorced you," I began. She looked up at me. "If I did that, could you go back to them?"
She looked at me sadly. "The church would have to approve it, first. They'd convene the elders and decide. If I could show that you had been unfaithful—if that was the basis for the divorce—then yes, I think I could."
I opened my mouth to respond, but Esther stopped me with a raised finger.
"But, I can't go back. I can never go back to that life. That's why I sent your email. Everything I know now...I could never be a part of that again, even if it were only to fake it so that I could see my family."
I ran the fingers of both of my hands through my hair. "I'm so fucking sorry, Esther."
She wiped her eyes and sniffed again. "It isn't your fault. I made these choices. All you ever did was give me the chance to find out for myself—the book."
"If you won't go back to that life, then could you at least visit them? Talk to them on the phone? Be their daughter and sister again?"
"Maybe," she said, "The church would decide." She looked up from the floor to me. "You would do that?"
I nodded.
"But I already sent the email."
"It's from my account. I'll say that I was lying—that I wrote it in anger to hurt you."
She accepted this silently.
"Esther?" When she looked at me again, I asked, "What's it like to go through? Becoming a new person, I mean."
She pinched her eyebrows, curious at my question, it seemed.
I tried to clarify. "That's what it seems like to me—like you're a new person. If we'd never dated and married, and I met you out on the street, I would never guess it was you. I'd think it was someone who looked a lot like you."
She smiled.
I asked again, "So, what's it like?"
She sighed, looking up at the ceiling, before answering me. "Terrifying and lonely, but exciting," she said. "In some ways, it's like I'm new. In other ways, it's like the world is new—like there were some things that were always in the shadows, and now they're in the light."
"Do you feel like you're in control?"
"No," she said, "Yes. I don't know. Sometimes?" She closed her eyes and leaned back against the bed. "It is easy for me to lose control—like earlier tonight."
"It must be kind of an amazing journey you're on," I said. "Like—I don't know—like the Joads."
"What?"
"My book—the book I'm reading—you're like the Joads."
She opened her eyes and looked at me. "You're reading Grapes of Wrath?"
I nodded.
"The actual book? Really?"
"Yep."
This seemed to amaze her. She shook her head, and then leaned back again, closing her eyes. "So, how am I like the Joads?"
I wanted to fuck her right then. She looked beautifully sad, and I wanted, just at that moment, to kiss her and touch her and fuck her until she screamed with joy. "Well, they lived in Oklahoma for generations, right? Never knew anything else. Now they're on the road, heading to California. Some parts of their old lives have died away. Everything else is new."
"I had forgotten that book," she said.
"Esther?"
She sighed, "Yeah?"
"How can I get you to stop hating my guts?"
"I don't hate you. I just...I needed to take it out on someone."
"Why me?"
"Honestly?"
I nodded.
"I guess a part of me knew you would take it and still care about me. Do you hate me for that?"
I shook my head. I did hate her a little, but how could I, just then, with how sexy she looked.
"I deserve it," she said, "You should."
My brain was already unhooking her bra and rubbing her pussy. I let it romp and imagine as I silently took in her body and face.
Maybe she felt it. Her head came up and she said, "What are you thinking bout right now?"
"How I'd like to...to ask you on a date."
"What? Really?"
I nodded. "You're not the only one changing around here. It might be fun to go out together, eat at a nice place. Hear about your adventures."
She smiled. "When?"
"Tomorrow?"
"You work nights."
"How about between my shifts, say around two o'clock? We can do a late lunch date."
She shrugged. "Okay."
"I'll pick somewhere nice. We'll dress up."
Esther seemed so happily surprised, so fresh and full of wonder, I thought I might be able to kiss her, then and there. Who knows, I thought, where the kiss might lead?
But, I shoved those desires down. I wasn't about to push it too far, too fast.
***
I got home after my first shift at 12:45, showered, and changed into slacks and a light dress shirt. I had made reservations for the two of us at the Capital Grille, a decent steak place not far up from us on the Green Line.
Esther came out wearing a light blue summer dress with thin straps and lace all over. She'd parted her hair in the middle, and it poured down over her chest in big curls.
"Wow, Esther. You look amazing."
She smiled.
"Ready?"
She nodded and we left for the Longwood T stop.
We had the run of the place. There were, maybe, ten other people in there. We both ordered steaks with garlic mashed potatoes. I got the ribeye; she got the petite filet.
While we waited, I asked her about cussing.
"What?" she responded.
"I guess I've always found that some words are just right for certain moments. There's nothing quite like saying 'shit' when you really need to, you know? So, are you finding that you like using them?"
"I'm just getting used to it," she said.
"Have you said 'fuck,' yet?"
"Yes."
"Will you say it for me?"
She smiled, shaking her head, "Why?"
"It'll be cool to hear you say it," I said, laughing.
"We're in a restaurant," she argued.
"Nobody's here. Come on, let's hear it."
She laughed. "Okay...fuck."
I laughed. "That was so awesome, Esther!"
She chuckled a bit, too, seeing my laughter.
"Another one! Say 'son of a fucking bitch.'" I had a huge grin on my face.
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
I nodded. "Come on. Please?"
She shook her head, and then closed her eyes. "Son of a fucking bitch."
I smiled. "One more?"
"What do you want me to say?" she asked, taking a sip of water.
"Fucking cock-sucking monkey ass cunt-whore shit." I said, and she blew her sip of water all over me and the table. She didn't even care, she was laughing so hard. Her hand slapped the table, and then it covered her heart. Fuck, it was great making her laugh.
I wiped my face and a few other spots. It took a minute, but Esther eventually settled down. "I'm sorry about that."
"Forget it. When was the last time you laughed that hard?"
She giggled again, and then she thought about it. Finally, she answered, "Before we moved here. Probably back in our old apartment."
"You mean that old fucking cock-sucking monkey ass cunt-whore shit place we used to live in?"
Esther lost it again.
After we ate, I asked her about Star.
"She's been great. I love your sister."
"Me, too. She's such a contradiction, but it suits her."
"How do you mean?" Esther asked.
"Well, on the one hand, she's so girly, you know? On the other, she's just raunchy."
"Raunchy? Really?"
"She hasn't fucked with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, my gosh, Esther. Star is...let me tell you some Star stories," I said, and I told her a bunch. Most of them were the ones about Star making me look like an idiot. I blew Esther's mind. It was a side of Star she'd never seen before.
And in telling her those stories, I got to see another side of Esther I'd never seen before. She was laughing about farts and boogers and tampons and piss bags and fake turds and all the other bullshit that Star had inflicted upon me over the years. I'd never told Esther these stories before because, hell, I knew she'd find them disgusting. Here she was laughing at them...hard. It was a wonder.
A few minutes later, I paid the bill, and we left together.
We were standing on top of the steps leading down to the outbound subway line when I said, "You may not have noticed, but I have: all the guys have been looking at you, everywhere we've gone. You really are beautiful, Esther. I was a lucky man today."
She seemed to not quite know how to take my compliment, but I spoke again before she could respond.
"I'm sorry, but I have to leave you here and get back to work. I've had fun. Thank you for coming."
"You're going back?"
"I need to get to South Station soon."
"Okay."
I took her hand and drew her toward me. I kissed her on the cheek. I was quick, so she didn't get the chance to stop me if she'd wanted to. "See you tonight," I said, and then I turned and walked over to the inbound stairwell and left.
Out of sight, I pumped my fist and said, "Fuck, yeah, Star!"
***
Note: Thanks to readers. More will follow. -FSEsther and Star Ch. 04
Sex lessons continue, but fate intervenes.
That night, after I got home from work and showered, Esther knocked on my door and thanked me for the date. I asked if she'd like to go out again. I proposed a nice Italian dinner in the North End on Saturday night.
She smiled, nodding enthusiastically. "That would be nice."
When she left, I opened my laptop and typed a note of apology to Esther's Mom, explaining that I'd been angry and that I had lied about Esther's drinking alcohol and having a sexual relationship with and my sister. I told Astrid I was a jerk and apologized for getting her involved with my stupid email. I tried to make the note sound sincere, but my original email had been so bluntly honest that I had no idea whether this new one would succeed.
Esther and I didn't see much of each other the rest of the week, other than in passing at the apartment. Star got back Thursday night, way later than she'd expected.
I did some research in preparation for Star's next lesson, assuming there was one.
When Saturday rolled around, Star asked me about the Monday lunch date with Esther.
"We had fun," I said.
"Are you putting some lessons learned into practice?"
"Yep," I said, smiling.
"You're not trying to steal my girlfriend, are you, brother mine?"
I rubbed my hands together. "I've got big plans, Star."
"Oh, that reminds me. I want you to see something." She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, opened up something and handed it to me.
I took it. It was a video on pause. Just a dark screen.
"Press play."
I did.
"Do you see it?" she asked.
"What am I supposed to see?"
"Dumbass! You don't see that? Look closer!"
I drew the phone up close to my face, and then, suddenly, some fat dude's hairy ass appeared and farted.
It surprised me, and I jumped a little.
Star giggled.
I chuckled and said, "You're a fucking idiot, Star."
She laughed me off, making a stack of dishes from the dirties on the kitchen table. "Here, give it back," she said.
I held it out for her.
She lifted her hands—full of dirty dishes—and turned around. "Slip it in my pocket for me, brother mine, but don't cop any feels while you're back there."
I opened her pocket with one finger and slid the phone in.
And then, of course, Star farted on my hands.
"Fuck!" I yelled.
"You're the most gullible dumbass on the planet!" She was almost screaming with laughter.
I spanked her, hard.
"Ow! Shit!" Star yelled, and she almost spilled all of the dishes. When she had them balanced again, she grumbled, "Look what you almost made me do, Hatrick Farthands!"
I laughed. "Is that my full name?"
She giggled, taking her load to the sink.
Man, her ass! I thought. That fucking thing is incredible!
I'm no big spanker—never really been into kinky stuff—but that was an ass that I would smack around with pleasure, if asked. Packed to the brim with feminine strength, Star's booty took my strike like it was nothing at all. Didn't squish. Didn't jiggle. It resisted, more like. Hell, the thing fought back! My hand probably stung as much as her ass.
I went to the couch. "What's today's lesson, Star?"
She walked over. She was in a black tank top and tiny khaki shorts. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but two thin locks of hair bowed out from her forehead, framing her face. As she approached the couch, she reached behind and under her shirt. Then her arms reappeared. She slid the straps off each arm, and then reached under the front of her tank top, pulled her bra down, and dropped on the floor.
"Advanced touching," she announced. "Let's go back to your room."
I followed her.
She sat on my bed, crossed her legs and motioned me over. "Today I'm going to teach you how to touch a woman's breasts."
I nodded calmly, but my heart raced with excitement. "Can I just try, and we'll see what I already know, like always?"
"Okay," she said.
I stripped off my shirt. "Take off yours, Stella."
"No."
"Well, then it's not really fair, is it? You want to see if I know what I'm doing, but touching through a shirt isn't the same."
"You can reach under."
"Still isn't fair. If I can't see them, I won't be as inspired."
She thought about this for a second and then shook her head. "Plenty of times you're going to feel tits without seeing them, so no."
"Look, Stella, do you want my best effort?"
"Yes."
"Then take off the shirt."
She seemed to be debating my proposal, but after a few seconds, she did. When her breasts came into sight, I decided that they looked inhumanly firm. Star's tits—just over a handful, each—did the opposite of sag. They jutted out. No, they almost rose up. They didn't behave as if they were filled with fatty tissues. It was more like they were filled with flexed muscle. It was like they had filled out so quickly, that the skin hadn't had time to adjust. They were overfilled. Something about the skin—how it shined—made them seem ready to burst. Star's tits were flushed and teeming.
"Lay down," I said, moving toward the bed.
She did. As I saw at Centerfolds weeks before, laying down had no visual impact on the shape of her tits. My cock was halfway to hard.
Her nipples were stiff, and the nipples, themselves—the tips—were wide, each like a stack of five dimes, but I couldn't tell where her normal skin ended and her nipples began until I was very close. The color difference was so subtle. They were definitely circular, and the tips were brown, but it was a gradual shift, not stark, like Esther's.
I fucking loved Star's tits.
I laid on my side next to her, propping up my head. I reached across her body and touched her left breast as gently as possible. I made wide circles around it. I ran the back of my fingers over the side closest to me, and pads on the side furthest. I softly rubbed the sides, the bottom area, and the top, applying just a little more pressure—like I was sliding the grain of suede leather, back and forth, changing its hue.
"What the hell are you doing?" Star asked, annoyed.
I would not be deterred. I had a plan.
I placed the pad of my hand under her tit and drew my thumb from the bottom—where it rejoined her chest—up toward the nipple, but I never actually touched her nipple. I massaged the sides and the top in the same way, almost drawing my thumb from the outermost part upward, like I was gathering fallen flower petals into a pile on her nipple.
"You're...that's not how you...okay, whatever," she muttered.
I must have looked like a man possessed. Or, maybe I looked like a kid with a toy that he had finally, finally got the chance to play with. I was fixated on Star's breasts, and I was going to enjoy them exactly the way I wanted to.
Next, I held my hand over the same breast, fingers flexed and fully extended. I lowered all of my fingers at the same time and lightly grasped the flesh. I drew my fingertips together until they closed upon the outer edge of her nipple, and then I released without ever touching it. I rotated my hand a little bit each time, trying not to leave any area untouched. I imagined that her breasts were full of milk and that I was coaxing it up to her nipple.
Star sighed and said, "Okay, that feels really really..."
"Shut the fuck up, Stella."
Her left breast was there, in my face. The skin around it shined. The hard nipple poked upward, never trembling. I had to feel that fullness with my lips. I leaned toward it, and Star tilted it, almost imperceptibly, toward my mouth. I began planting soft, little kisses around its perimeter. How, I wondered, could something so firm be so soft?
I finally took the far breast into my hand more forcefully, and I massaged it deeply, still avoiding the nipple.
Star moaned.
I climbed over the top of her body, spreading her legs with my knees. I supported myself with my left hand, still gently kissing one breast and kneading the other.
I quit kissing the one, and I started very slowly licking it. I dragged my tongue across the warm skin like I was cleaning ice cream off it. I licked every part of it, except the nipple.
Star began drawing in long pulls of air and blowing them out. She moaned, "Oh, shit. Oh, shit."
I let go of her other breast with my hand, and I unbuttoned her shorts. I pulled down the zipper and gently tugged at each side until they slid down over her hips, and down to her knees. I felt her slip them the rest of the way off. I put my hand in that hot space between her legs, but I didn't touch her pussy.
I felt Star scoot and grind her hips toward my hand, so I put my palm against her, and she stopped, waiting for me.
I opened my mouth over her nipple and held there. Star whined.
With the tip of my tongue, I finally touched her nipple. I drew light circles around it.
Star moaned.
I didn't move my hand, yet. It remained flat in her crotch, but I could still feel her wetness on the flat of my palm. She began to grind against it, humming in satisfaction.
I kissed her nipple, and Star gasped. I kissed it again, sucking on it briefly, and she moaned with real force.
I pinched her nipple with my lips, again and again, and Star whispered, "Oh, shit. This never...I've never...oh, fuck."
Now was the time. I curled my middle finger in, and it slid into the tight crease of Star's ass until it came to rest against her little asshole. I massaged it with a fingertip.
Star, still panting, huffed, "That's not...that's my...oh, shit."
I clamped down on her nipple with my lips and sucked. She hollered with ecstasy.
Her hips continued to gyrate, grinding her wet pussy into the palm of my hand. I pressed the tip of my middle finger firmly against her little hole, and it gradually allowed entry. She hollered again.
I released her nipple, opened wide, and sucked as much of her tit into my mouth as I could take.
My middle finger crept further inside her, and soon, I had enough in there to move it. I pushed the pad of my finger up, inside her, against the upper wall, and I slid it firmly back and forth. I was trying to create some sensation through the wall of flesh into her pussy.
It worked. Star gasped and moaned deeply.
My lips held the flesh of her breast firmly, and I used the back of my tongue to suck her nipple in short pulls. Her hand gripped the back of my head and pulled me tightly against her body.
Then, Star fucking exploded on me. She screamed. She squirmed. I felt her core flex and contract rapidly, and the palm of my hand was suddenly coated with hot, slick fluid. I looked up from my work on her breast to see her face, flushed red and veins on her forehead bulged out. She wailed and shrieked, and she went on and on.
I had no idea a woman's orgasm could last so long.
I had no idea how strong Star was. Her legs clenched my body with the power of a fucking locomotive engine. Her arm squeezed my mouth into her breast like an iron bench vise. I don't know what the hell was happening in her pussy. The fucking thing was like someone tased it. It convulsed and spilled fluid. I thought Star was pissing on me.
I held on as long as I could, but her feet eventually shoved me away. I sat between her legs and watched her.
She panted, "Don't...don't fucking touch me right now. Just stay...stay where you are." Her outstretched finger shook, warding me off.
I looked at my soaked hand and smelled it. It wasn't piss. She squirted on me. She came on my hand. I looked at her pussy, and the fucking thing was just sopping and shiny, all around it and on the insides of her thighs, too. My bed had a little spot of wetness just beneath her crotch.
Holy shit, it worked.
My newfound appreciation for reading and research—for learning, really—had just paid off. I expected Star's lesson to probably involve her tits. So, I spent about an hour online reading about what I should do. There was some horse shit out there, but I found this outside-in breast technique, and I kept on finding it in other places. It seemed like the real deal. I also found this pussy-massage-from-the-ass technique, and I wondered what would happen if I combined the two.
Now, I knew. You basically killed the subject. Star laid there like she'd been electrocuted and was gasping her final breaths.
I smiled. I was fucking fired up. At that moment, the teeth of the beast had finally released me. I wanted to be good at giving pleasure. I had been a miserable failure for my wife. But now, it seemed like Star had just enjoyed the hell out of what I'd done to her.
Maybe I could do this, I thought. Maybe redemption was possible. Fuck, yeah.
Star unleashed a huge sigh, and she started laughing. At first, it came out low, sounding more like coughing than laughter. Then, it built up. Soon, she was chuckling pretty hard. She went for a bit, and when it died out, she sat up in bed.
"There's no way—no fucking way—you ever did that to Esther, brother mine. That was new. You learned that somewhere, and recently. Tell me you did."
"I did. Learning is cool."
She laughed at me, and sighed, "Oh, fuck, that was fun." She wiped her eyes and looked between her legs. "That has never happened to me before—well, I shouldn't say that. I've squirted before, but never that much. Not even close. When I have a good orgasm, I may squirt a teaspoon or so, but this is like a quarter of a fucking cup. This is crazy. Look at this!" She giggled in disbelief.
"It was that good?"
She looked at me and flopped on her back, "Oh, fuck, yes. Fuck, yes! I was going to come from what you were doing just on my nipples, and then...then when I was grinding on your hand, that made it even better. And then, then!" She shot back up, eyeing me intensely. "Then, when you did that with your finger in my ass? I can't even...it was like the orgasm was connected from my nipples to my pussy to my ass. It was...my entire body just...I've never felt anything like it. That could have been my best ever. I'm serious."
I smiled and pumped my fist. "Yeah, baby."
She laughed at me. "You're such a dumbass," she muttered. "But, I'm glad you looked that up."
"Me, too."
"I have to try that on Esther," she said.
"Hey!" I yelled. "No way, Star. That's my move. Don't you fucking dare."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes. Find your own fucking move."
"Okay," she said, waving her palms at me, "Okay, Hatrick Farthands, the tit-pussy-ass move is yours until you tell me I can borrow it."
"Good. Thank you."
She smirked at me, and then she looked at the pole in my shorts. "I suppose you want me to give you a little 'down boy'? You certainly deserve it."
Something about the way she offered it didn't work for me. I was shocked to find myself saying, "No, thanks."
"What? Why not?"
"You don't owe me anything. I wanted to do it."
"Come here," she said, gesturing to the bed.
I gave her a look.
"I just want to snuggle with you and talk. Please come here?"
I crawled up beside her and laid on my back with my arms behind my head. Star put her head against my chest and threw her leg over my stomach. Her shin hit my boner.
"Shit!" I roared.
"Sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Star!"
"I didn't mean to. I'm sorry!"
I grunted, frowning and staring up at the ceiling. I could feel her looking at me. She had a smile. She mockingly said, "Oh, he's such an angry boy!"
I laughed. "Shut the fuck up."
She giggled and then snuggled against me. I felt her nipples on my side. I loved that she was completely naked.
"We never talked about what we're doing, and I wanted to."
"What? Do you feel wrong or guilty or something?" I asked.
"Do you?"
"You're teaching me. That makes it different. Plus, it's not like I'm going to marry you or something."
"What if I told you," she said, "that I like it, that I look forward to it."
"I'd be glad. I'd think it was cool. I'd tell you: 'me, too.'"
Star rubbed her naked leg over my cock. "Why doesn't Hatrick Farthands want a 'down boy' from me?"
I shrugged. "Don't get me wrong. I love the hell out of them. I just don't want you thinking you owe me or something." I paused for a moment, and then added, "Stella doesn't owe Hatrick a blowjob for the tits-pussy-ass maneuver."
She cooed, "What if Stella needs to please her man? What if making Hatrick cum gives Stella a kind of special satisfaction she doesn't get from anything else?"
I turned my face to hers.
Slowly, her fingers began to work my shorts over my cock. She used her foot to shove them down my legs to the floor.
She finished, asking, "What if Stella needs to soothe and tame the wild beast?" Her fingertips alighted softly on my balls. She stroked them tenderly for a moment before her index finger traced the length of my cock as delicately as a raindrop slides along the spine of a leaf.
I closed my eyes, groaning. When I opened them, Star had vanished.
Climbing between my legs, she began to tug me toward the foot of the mattress. I helped her. When my feet landed on the carpet, she let go and went to her knees.
I propped my body up to a sitting position to watch.
Then, Star's hand cupped my balls, lifting them. Her head descended, mouth open, tongue glistening. Her lips closed around one of my balls, and she sucked upon it.
There was a strange weakness in her actions. She seemed to me like an ailing person, languid and weary. Her head slowly gyrated in a small arc, like a pendulum at the end of its energy. The suction relented, and my nut fell from her lips. With the same listlessness, she drew the other one to her mouth, and there it was again.
It was as if my balls were some desperately needed medicine and Star, the enfeebled patient, was drawing it out with what little strength in her remained.
She looked at me and her hand swung up to grab my cock.
The contrast was exciting—Star's little feminine hand gripping my shaft and stroking it with sensual strength on the one hand and Star's soft, wet mouth delicately nursing on my balls on the other.
I was on fire, but she suddenly quit, and my cock toppled to my belly.
With a mischievous grin, she rose high on her knees and nestled her body snugly between my legs. I watched her draw my cock to vertical, place it against her left tit, and then secure it in the cleavage with the other one.
When her tits slid up and down, I growled, "Fuck."
Yeah, titfucking didn't have the sloppy-wet heat of blowjobs, but it made up for that deficit in the views. When I wasn't watching Star's perfect tits squeeze and ride and fuck my cock, I watched her eyes, and they watched mine.
My sister, as I mentioned, is hot—meaning she has the kind of face that makes guys think instantly of sex. But, when sex is actually taking place? And it is with her? The effect skyrockets.
Fuck me, those eyes!
Lust welled inside me. I wanted to have her look at me that way every day and every night. I wanted to lock her in my bedroom forever, just mine.
Jealousy surged, too. I suddenly hated anyone she had ever looked at in the same way as she was looking at me at that moment.
Intense pleasure began to mount. I told her I was going to cum.
Star smiled and watched my cock, still gyrating. She saw my cum first spill and then leap out. It gushed recklessly, coating her neck, dashing across the smooth flesh of one tit, streaming down my shaft, and wildly spitting beads and cables of the white fluid.
Then, it ended, and I fell backward on the mattress chuffing air.
Star kissed my leg and told me she loved me.
I struggled to respond, still overwhelmed. What came out of me were several animal-like utterances, one of which may have been intelligible as "amazing."
She laughed and walked out of my room to go shower.
I continued to recover.
***
Esther was getting ready for our second date in Star's bedroom. I had purchased tickets to a musical I knew she would like in the South end for that night. I was ready to go, just waiting for Esther. Checking my email, I saw the response from Astrid, Esther's Mom. Oh, damn.
It said nothing about my first note.
It didn't say anything about my apology note, either.
It said that Esther's father had died that afternoon—a heart attack.
Oh, fuck. Oh, no.
Astrid's words paralyzed me. I read them again.
Why hadn't she fucking called?
Son of a bitch. This is how far, I thought, the disfellowshipping went: Esther's own mother wasn't even allowed to call her daughter to tell her about the death of her father. Fuck me.
I had to tell Esther, but how?
My mind scrambled for a compassionate way to do it. There really wasn't one. I got up and walked out of my room. Crossing the kitchen, I knocked on Star's door.
"Me," I called out.
Star cracked open the door. She saw my face. "What's wrong?"
"May I talk to Esther?"
"What is it?"
"Not good, Star. Please."
She nodded. "Hang on." The door closed.
I waited.
Esther came out, leaving the door open behind her. My gosh, she was beautiful. Her long white hair was pulled tight against her head and braided into a ponytail that curved to the side of her head and fell over her shoulder down her front. She wore a light green summer dress, floral, with no sleeves and a high neckline. The waist was tight—form-fitting—and the pleated bottom flared out to just above knee length.
Star was there with her.
"Esther, I just got an email from Astrid."
She cringed, expecting to hear how angry her mother was.
"No. Esther, it's not about that note we sent," I said.
She sighed, relieved. Apparently, she didn't read my expression as accurately as Star had. "What'd she say? Let me see." She started to walk past me.
I grabbed her arm and stopped her.
She turned to me, and then she saw it. "What's wrong?"
I took a deep breath. "It's your dad. He had a heart attack this afternoon. I'm so sorry, Ess. He passed away."
Star emerged from her room in a flash. She cried, "Oh, no. No. No! Esther!"
I raised my arms to my wife. She made to reach for me, to accept the embrace, but Star's urgency made her turn.
I dropped my hands.
They hugged, and instantly both of them were crying. Star out of sympathy. Esther out of anguish. They sank to their knees together.
I stood there, unsure of how to comfort Esther. Star was doing a darn good job. When Esther is heartbroken, she's so beautifully forlorn. Seeing her on her knees, weeping for her father, knowing she hadn't been able to see or speak to him in months—because of me, really—was one of the most gut-wrenching things I've ever witnessed.
I fetched some tissues and a glass of water and brought them to her. She saw them and shook her head, so I set them beside her and backed away.
The date was off.
Some few minutes later, I asked Esther for her permission to call her mother and find out what I could about arrangements.
She nodded.
Esther's sister, Miriam, answered Astrid's phone. She was barely holding on. I offered my sympathy, and Miriam thanked me, explaining what had happened. It looked like the funeral would be in three days. There would likely be a visitation the night before. Then, I got down to business.
"Can Esther come?"
"Yes."
"Can she be with her family, share in this...this sad time for all of you?"
"Well...no. She can't. The Watchtower says she's not a member of our family anymore."
I couldn't speak.
Her voice changed to a whisper, "I...I hate it, too. I miss my sister and I need her—we need her—but we can't. We can't speak to her. We can't accept her into our home."
I bought plane tickets for her and made arrangements for her to stay in a hotel, but I also did one more thing.
I downloaded the form for Uncontested Divorce from mass.gov. I went to one of those UPS Stores and printed it out. Then, I filled it out and had it notarized at my bank while I signed it.
When I told her about the tickets, I discovered that she'd asked Star to come with her.
The next morning, I dropped them both off at Logan. Before they went inside, I handed Esther the divorce paper, saying that I really hoped it might help.
She opened it, glanced over it, and shot me a look of astonishment.
I said, "Maybe your family will be able to talk to you, let you stay at home and stuff, if the church sees it."
She nodded. For a moment I thought she was going to say something.
She didn't, and Esther and my sister took their luggage and walked through the doors.
I put my wedding ring in the top drawer of my dresser when I got home.
It was over.
***
I finished Grapes of Wrath while Esther and Star were away at the funeral. It was a total downer that fucking book, but I liked it. I liked how the Joads just went on—how they didn't give a fuck about their troubles, but they definitely gave a fuck about the troubles of others. I wondered whether or not I would have sucked on Rose-of-Sharon's tits, like that guy at the end, if I were starving—to feed myself—and what I decided was this: fuck, yeah, I would have.
I hopped on the T and went back to the bookstore at Downtown Crossing. Walking around the place, I found that cute gal who helped me before.
She recognized me. I reminded her of the book I read and explained that I was looking for a new one.
"No, I remember you," she said. "So, you finished it?"
"Yeah."
"Really?" she asked, suspicion in her eyes.
I nodded, confidently. "I did."
She smiled brightly, and I realized she wasn't just cute, she was beautiful. She looked to be in her mid or late forties. Her hair was short and black, with a little grey frost. She was almost as tall as me and flat-chested. Didn't matter. Her eyes and her smile just knocked me out. Her eyes were dark blue. Big, those eyes. When she smiled, some wrinkles wrapped around her eyes in a way that seemed to lift them, brighten them.
I liked her sleek frame, a kind of regal, feminine build. She seemed graceful and elegant. Her little tits pointed at me through her top.
I had looked for too long. She noticed.
I cleared my throat and said, "Excuse me."
Her eyebrows just barely lifted, and then she said, "What kind of book this time?"
"Same."
"Another challenging high school English one?"
"Yeah, but can you help me get one with a little happier ending?"
I followed her through the shelves, and I liked her body, how it moved with confidence. She had a nice ass—high and firm with long legs that swept her around the place briskly.
When she reached for a book, I noticed that she didn't have a wedding ring.
She handed it to me. Another long one: The Count of Monte Cristo.
As I flipped through it, she stood beside me. I could smell her and feel how close she was. My body grew warm.
"It's an adventure—a revenge story," she said.
"It's tough?"
"It's smart," she responded, "Nothing is superfluous."
I turned to her, and our faces were close. "Huh?"
She swallowed and said, "Superfluous—nothing is unnecessary. Everything you read, even the littlest detail, matters somewhere later on."
I nodded, understanding. As I turned back to the book, I couldn't help but smile. Her eyes were fucking sunshine.
"And the dialogue is so beautifully written," she added. "You'll feel intelligent just reading how the characters speak to one another."
"Cool. Happy ending?"
"Yes."
"I'll take it," I said.
Her smile brightened even more if that was possible.
"Say," I began, "when I finish this and need another one...?"
"I'm here Tuesdays to Saturdays, two o'clock to closing."
"Thanks...uh, Diane, right?"
"Mm-hmm," she responded, nodding.
I shook her hand and told her my name.
"Nice to meet you," she said.
"You, too."
I turned away to make for the check-out line, but something came over me. I suddenly felt reckless. Beautiful women, I think, do that to guys. Besides, she was way too old for me; I could take a risk for the hell of it. I stopped and turned back to her.
"Hey, uh, Diane?"
Her face lifted, expectantly.
"I'm just saying this...I mean...I wanted you to know that..." Geez, I thought, I'm fucking this up. "You're awesome. I mean, I don't know how anyone could have a bad day if you were around. You're just beautiful." I wanted to say more, but I was struggling to find the right words. "I...I guess I should just shut up now."
I turned away, feeling a bit embarrassed. Shit! How the fuck do you forget how to talk to girls?
She called my name.
I stopped and faced her, and I had to have looked like a dog that knew it fucked up.
"That was a lovely thing to say," she said, and her smile was different—not just bright, but also relaxed and confident. She seemed taller.
I nodded, returning the smile. Then I left to go buy the book. My heart, I realized, had been racing from the moment that reckless feeling had swept over me.
As I left the store, still smiling, there was a chubby guy in dark sunglasses kneeling on the floor of the vestibule, rifling through a backpack. He closed the pack when I entered and waited for me to pass. He looked like an employee—the white button-up collared shirt, the khaki trousers, the name tag. He appeared to be in his forties, and he had a crazy-thick black beard.
I said, "Have a good one," as I passed to the outer doors.
He said, "Keep moving, lucky day."
My momentum carried me out the door, but I stopped on the sidewalk and turned back. What the fuck did he just call me?
Light reflected off the glass, so I could barely make out his silhouette. The guy stood and walked toward the inner doors. His backpack was on, and he was carrying something—books, maybe—in both hands.
I was planning to go back and ask him what the fuck he meant by calling me "Lucky Day." But, fuck it, I decided, I'll give the guy a pass. Diane's smile had made my day; no point in ruining it over some douchebag bookstore guy.
I looked across the parking lot and realized I'd forgotten where I'd parked.
Those weren't books.
My heart froze.
They were handguns.
I walked back toward the entrance, keeping off to the side. My heart unfroze. Now, it pounded mercilessly.
Just going to see, I convinced myself. It was books, for fuck's sake, not guns. Just going to see for sure.
Before I even had the chance, I heard it.
Yeah, they were handguns.
Gunshot.
I ducked reflexively and hissed, "Fuck!" People inside the store screamed.
I peeked through the glass. The guy lowered the gun. There was a black hole in the ceiling above him. He began walking forward, down the center aisle, and the gun was fixed on somebody.
I couldn't see who. I was already moving. I was in the vestibule, and there was no turning back because I had launched myself into the store. I was moving way too fucking fast to stop. The inner doors exploded open in front of me, and I was inside, charging the guy, my legs propelling me like catapults to a reckless speed.
The shooter heard me. He spun around. Something about my approach shocked him, for the moment he saw what was coming, he jumped back with a start.
The lady he was aiming at was still there, still standing, I saw. She was alive, thank fuck.
That I surprised the guy didn't matter. He leveled both pistols at me.
I was about to be his first victim. I was a dead man. I was racing towards a guy pointing two pistols at my face. The black holes of the barrels were like dead eyes. All he had to do was squeeze.
But, it was going to be a closer thing than I first imagined. The guy kept stepping backward, and it must have been because I was coming at him like a big fucking tiger—low, eerily silent, and stunningly fast.
Still, the guy shot—once or twice, I don't know. I think both pistols went off.
He got me, the mother fucker. I expected more of a thud; this was more like the slice of a hot knife. Didn't matter how it felt, though, it was a head shot, I knew it. I felt something in my shoulder, too.
But, I didn't go down. Adrenaline, I guessed. I was going to get to him.
Fuck, I was angry. Killed by some cock-sucking shooter? The thought made me furious.
Someone screamed; it may have been the guy.
My body was already dipping down, like the way a fighter jet might before it suddenly rockets vertically on afterburners. I shoved myself up, hurling my right shoulder into the shooter's guts and leaping. My arms wrapped around him, and we were airborne.
I didn't know what I was going to do. It wasn't a thought that I remembered actually thinking—hey, I'm going to tackle the guy like this, get him in the air, and then so on and so forth.
No, I had a rough idea of where things were in the store, and the plan sort of formulated in my mind without me really making any conscious decisions. I don't remember estimating the shooter's weight, but I must have factored that into how hard I jumped. I had to have accounted for my own speed, too.
Anyways, our arc through the air was right. A little kiosk sat in the middle of the center aisle about halfway between the front entrance and the cafe in the back. It was the kind with a computer to help people locate books.
In mid-air, I wrenched my stomach muscles, hauling the guy's torso in a little backward arc. His back, backpack and all, slammed into the edge of the countertop. I heard a wet crack. The kiosk exploded, and I skidded across the papers, books, components, and shattered particle board the collision left behind.
I wasn't dead, yet.
Did he miss? I wondered. No, I felt it hit me. Whatever.
I sprang to my feet and pounced over the wreckage, fists balled, ready to finish off the fucking guy.
He was already finished.
The pistols were on the ground. He was awake and aware, screaming and crying. The way he shook and trembled was wrong. His arms moved, but his legs were like a couple of big, dead fishes.
"My legs!" he shrieked. "I can't feel my legs!"
He was done. Why wasn't I dead, yet?
I kicked the pistols across the floor. He screamed some more when I yanked the backpack off him and tossed it away. When I turned back to the guy, he had passed out.
A little dude in a Bruins cap ran up. "I called 911!" he blurted.
We looked at each other. His eyes widened.
"You're bleeding, dude. He got you," the ball cap dude said, staring at the left side of my head. I felt blood running down my ear and neck. Shit, my shoulder hurt.
I nodded to the guy, and then I turned to look for the person the shooter had first targeted. My eyes passed over the crowd that was forming, and then I saw her.
Diane.
She had been that first target.
"Diane, are you okay?"
She stared at me, not responding.
I began walking over to her.
Someone grabbed me. "You need to sit down, pal, and wait for an ambulance."
I shook free, but not before three or four more people all crowded me. They were saying kind things. They spoke gently, but they were all urging me to sit down.
"Thanks," I said, "but check on that woman." I pointed. "Make sure Diane's okay."
It was then I noticed the life-or-death energy that infused me had rushed out. I was exhausted.
Still, I needed to make sure Diane was alright. I shook free of the hands upon me, and a few steps later, I was in front of her. "Diane," I muttered, feeling woozy. "You're okay, right?"
Her eyes grew wide, and her hands stretched out for me as if I were falling.
I don't remember what happened next.
***
End note: Some crazy twists and turns, I know. I hope it works for you. More will come soon. Thanks for taking the time to read this. -FSEsther and Star Ch. 05
Young man seeks help while recuperating.
I woke in a hospital bed, and my head and shoulder hurt like fuck. A female cop was sitting across from me, reading the Herald.
I glanced around. The other bed was empty. I could feel something on my head, and I saw a kind of sling holding my right arm tightly against my body.
"Where am I?" I asked.
The cop glanced up, threw down the paper, and said, "Mass General." She left the room in a hurry.
She came back ten seconds later, followed by a few medical people and another woman in a suit.
The older of the two medical people, a doctor I guessed, confirmed my name.
I nodded.
He introduced himself and said, "Well, sir, first: you're going to be fine. You've been shot, but nothing critical was damaged. The bullet appears to have ricocheted off your skull and gone through your right shoulder. You lost a fair amount of blood, but we managed to stitch up your scalp and repair your shoulder."
I reached across my body with my left arm and touched above my right ear. I felt some bare skin there and a big padded bandage.
"Careful," the other medical person—the nurse—said. "Don't put any pressure on the wound. Wouldn't want you to start bleeding again."
"This," the doctor said, "is Perce. He's your nurse, and he'll take good care of you."
Perce the Nurse?
I touched my right shoulder, and a shot of pain slashed through the rest of my body. I winced.
"That's going to be a little sore for a few weeks," Perce said, smiling.
"Can I go home?" I asked.
The doctor glanced at the woman in the blue suit and then back to me. "This is Detective Gambia from the BPD. She needs to ask you some questions, first, and then we can talk about that. Before Perce and I go, do you have any further questions about your medical condition?"
I shook my head. "But, maybe later."
As Perce walked out, he reached out and, very gingerly, shook my hand. "A pleasure to care for a hero," he said, smiling kindly.
The door closed, and the Detective stepped closer. She gestured to the cop, "Sir, this is Officer Noonan; I'm Detective Gambia. I'd like to ask you some questions about the incident today at the Barnes and Noble in Downtown Crossing. May I?"
I nodded.
Gambia took out her phone, pressed a few buttons, and then set it on the bed beside me. "I'm going to record this."
I nodded.
She started asking. Noonan jotted down some notes in a little flip spiral notebook. It was very business-like. When Gambia finished, about ten minutes later, she looked at Officer Noonan.
Noonan nodded, and a little grin unfurled on her face.
Gambia nodded back at her, and then turned to me with a smile. "I don't know how many lives you saved today, sir, but I think it may have been quite a few."
I nodded. "The shooter dead?"
"No, he's going to live. Looks like your tackle did some serious damage to his spine. I can't tell you anything more; it's an ongoing investigation."
I nodded.
"We may need to speak to you again for some follow-up. Would that be okay?"
"Yeah."
"Then, on behalf of the City of Boston, thank you." She shook my hand. Noonan walked over and did, too. They left.
Perce came in. "There's some people from the networks and the papers want to talk to you when you're up for it?"
"No!" I said a bit too forcefully.
Perce drew back, surprised.
"Sorry. I just...I don't want to talk to them, okay?"
"You won't have to, buddy. I'll fend 'em off."
The doctor walked in.
"No press," Perce told him.
"Really?" the doctor asked me.
I shook my head.
"Are you sure? They want to interview the hero," he offered, smiling.
"No, thanks, Doc."
"Another time, then."
I sighed, shaking my head. "Can I just go home?"
The doctor cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, to that question. We would like to monitor you for the next several hours to ensure that the bleeding does not resume. If the sutures are holding up and everything else is functioning normally, then you can be released with a pain prescription."
"Functioning normally?"
"Urinating," Perce explained. "We can't let you go until you've urinated—all systems go, you know?"
"Okay."
The doctor added, "We're going to send in a mental health professional to talk to you about PTSD before you go, as well."
"When will that be?"
"Do you feel up to it?"
"Yes, let's get it done."
The Doctor shrugged and left.
"Hey, Perce, where's my stuff?"
"Over here," he said, walking to a small desk where, piled on top, sat my clothes, wallet, keys, phone, and The Count of Monte Cristo. "What do you need?"
"Cell phone, please."
He brought it to me.
I thanked him and he left.
I called Esther. No answer. I left her a short message, hoping everything worked out with her family. I didn't mention the bookstore.
I called Star. She picked up.
She said, "You are so good, brother mine."
"No big deal. I'm not even really hurt all that bad."
Silence. Then, she said, "Uh, what are you talking about?"
"What are you talking about?"
"The divorce papers, dumbass. They worked. Now, what's this about you being hurt?"
"Miriam and Astrid are talking to Ess again?"
"Yes. Well, Esther had to sign the papers first, but once she did, the elders did some kind of emergency meeting, and I think they've—I don't know—temporarily relaxed the restrictions."
"Good. I'm glad for her."
"I love you for that, you know," she said. "Hey, you did it so that she could be with her family, right? You didn't do it to actually end your marriage, did you?"
"Be with family," I responded. "But look, Star, if she wants it to be the real thing, I'm not going to fight her on it. I signed those papers."
"Don't give up on her!"
"Yeah."
"Really? You won't?" she asked, pressing me.
"I won't, but it's her decision."
Star sighed, and then she said, "Wait a second. What about you being hurt?"
"Nothing. I gotta go."
"Come on! At least tell me things are okay."
"Things are okay, Star."
"Well...okay."
"Talk to you later."
"Love you, brother mine!"
"Yeah. Bye." I hung up.
Signed. Esther signed them. That was it. All she had to do now was mail them, and in a couple of months, we'd have a court appearance, and I'd be divorced from Esther.
I should have been happy—for her and me. She got her family back.
I wasn't happy. I just felt like a fucking failure.
Perce came back into the room a few minutes later. "Hey, uh, I know you don't want to talk to the news right now, but there's also a lady out there. She says she was in the store when it happened, says she knows you."
"Diane?"
Perce shot a finger at me. "That's her. Can I send her in? She's been waiting a long time."
"Yeah."
I didn't think about the pain while I waited; I just felt my heart start pounding.
Perce escorted her in.
"Hi, Diane," I said.
She smiled, but it was forced. Her eyes grew glassy as she thanked me, told me I saved her life, told me she'd never been more terrified, told me she knew she was going to die. By the end, she was crying, and the smile was gone.
"It's really cool that you came to say that. I...well, you know what I think of you."
Then, she did smile. She said, "I don't understand what I did to make you feel that way, but thank you."
"I was lucky. It worked out, I guess."
"You were incredibly brave," she said, and she moved beside me. She took my right hand and said, "Is there anything you need? Let me do something for you to show my gratitude."
"No. No, thanks, Diane. You should go and be with your family and friends. I'll be alright."
"Are you certain there's no way I can help?"
The image of her pussy lowering onto my face flashed through my mind, but I said, "Thank you—no."
She took a card and a pen from her purse, jotting something down. She placed it on the rolling table beside my bed. "It's my number. Please call me if there's anything—anything at all—that I can do."
"Okay," I responded.
"Please do," she urged. She put away her things, and then she squeezed my hand gently. As she walked out, she turned back one more time, smiled sadly, and waved.
I nodded. In the moments that followed, I let my mind romp, thinking of Diane, but it lasted only a few seconds.
I remembered that Esther signed the fucking papers.
Son of a bitch!
I hated her.
Fucking hated her.
I sighed.
No, I didn't.
Hated myself, really.
***
An hour later, Perce came in. He said, "You gotta see this" and turned on the television. Once he found the right channel, I saw the Mayor speaking at some kind of press conference. The chief of police was there. The commissioner, I guess, too. When they mentioned my name, Perce turned to me with a huge grin, nodding.
Fuck. "You can shut it off," I muttered.
"Really?"
I nodded.
"They showed the footage from the bookstore cameras, too. It's on every channel now. YouTube. You're everywhere, man."
"Please, Perce."
He shut off the television, set the remote down, and asked, "Do anything for you? Need anything?"
"Get me out of here?"
"I'll see what I can do."
He left, and it was then that my phone started going crazy with phone calls and text messages—from Star, from my parents, friends back home, guys I knew from work. Geez.
I didn't answer any of them, and eventually, I just shut it off.
***
It was just after 9:00pm when Perce told me I could go. I had finished the PTSD counseling, gotten my brief on the pain medication, and signed my discharge papers. I had successfully pissed, too. Perce had stood by the bathroom door, cheering me on.
As he helped me sit up, Perce said, "I need to tell ya, there's still a ton of press here, waiting to interview you. They're setting up a table with a podium and a microphone—the works."
I closed my eyes and sighed. "Perce, you've got to help me out here. Is there any way outta this place without running into them? A sneak exit or something?"
He paused, thinking it seemed, and then said, "Gimme ten minutes."
He came back with a sack in his fist. Perce said, "Your picture is all over the news, so we need to disguise you a little first."
"Whose are these?" I asked, gesturing to the sack full of clothes and items that were not mine.
"Co-worker. He was happy to give 'em up to the hero," he said. "Now, who can you call to pick you up? I need to give them specific directions to avoid the press."
I shook my head. "Nobody."
"No family?"
"No."
"Friends?"
"Just moved here back in May."
Perce seemed to think about this for a moment, and then he said, "I'll call you a ride. Be right back."
When he returned, Perce helped me out of the "Immobilizer Sling." He put a button-up shirt on me—those would be a lot easier to put on for the time being, he said. I put on my own shorts, but he had to button them for me. Then, he draped a light windbreaker over me to hide the sling—something they sold in the gift shop. He put a straw fedora over my head, carefully avoiding the wound. I slid on my socks, one-handed. Perce handed me sunglasses. While I put them on, he tied my shoes.
I looked in the mirror. I was ready. "How do I get out?"
He said, "Follow me. I already checked you out at the desk, and I put your paperwork in the pocket of that coat. Your prescription is in there, and you'll want to fill that soon. The rest of your stuff I'll stick in this sack."
We went to the door, and he said, "Wait here."
He walked out.
A minute later, he came back, pushing a fat rolling janitorial cart. He left it against the door of my room, blocking a portion of the hallway. Vanishing again, he returned with a wheelchair.
"Give it a minute," he explained. "There's a pack of reporters in the lobby down the hall. They'll see you come out. So, here's the plan: I'm going to push you in the wheelchair across the hall and were going to use the custodial cart to block you from view. Just duck a little. I'll leave the cart in the hall, swing around and push you to that other hallway." He pointed to a place where the hallway outside my room formed a T intersection.
"Do I have to be in a wheelchair?"
He nodded. "I'd get canned if you weren't."
I nodded. "Got it."
When the time was right, Perce pushed me into the hall. Then, he tried to move both me and the cart at the same time. It was obvious that, combined, it was too heavy a load for him, so I used my good arm and helped myself alongside the tall cart. Together, we passed over to the other hall with no problems—other than my shoulder ached.
Perce came around the corner. "Good to go?"
I nodded.
"Okay, let's go."
He pushed me to the end of the hall to a service elevator. We'd been on the 3rd floor. Down we went to the basement level.
"I don't have much money on me," I said.
"I know. I checked, but here." He shoved a wad of cash into my hands. "I took up a quick collection for your ride. From the ER staff."
"Holy shit. Thanks, Perce."
"Our pleasure."
At the basement level, Perce peeked out the window. He opened the door and waved at someone. A few seconds later, a cab appeared.
"Your ride, my friend."
I gave him a left-handed shake. "Thanks for everything, Perce."
"No problem whatsoever."
"You've been great, really."
"Good luck, hero."
I got in the cab and told him where to go.
There were news trucks parked around our apartment complex. No way I'm going through that, I thought. So, I had the cabbie take me to South Station. No one noticed me until I checked into the employee's area. There, I got accosted by a bunch of co-workers, all asking about the incident.
I said enough to pacify them and went to the bunkhouse to sleep. Man, did I sleep hard.
***
Some dickface at South Station—one of my fellow conductors—blabbed, told people I was there. A shift boss came by in the morning, woke me, and told me two things. One, I was not to report back to work until I was 100% healthy. Two, I had to get the fuck out of his bunkhouse.
"I can't go home. The press is all over the place."
"Yeah, no shit. You're the Bookstore Hero."
"Fuck."
"So talk to 'em. Give 'em what they want, and they'll leave you alone," he suggested.
"No way."
"Why the fuck not? It's not like you got caught fuckin' a cat. You're a hero, for fuck's sake."
"Shit," I sighed.
"Look, you do what you gotta do, but I got bosses asking about you, telling me we can't have no injured employees bunkin' here. People are fuckin' coming. The place has got reporters running around asking about ya. If you don't want to talk to them, fine. But, you can't stay here."
"Where then?"
"Who am I, your pop? I don't know. Get a fuckin' hotel room. Call a friend."
He left.
Not wanting to turn on my phone, I walked over to the office with my bag of things. I found the card I was looking for, read the number, and called it on the office landline.
A woman's voice answered. It was her.
"Diane?"
"This is."
I identified myself, and she seemed surprised, but glad for my call.
She asked about me, but I launched into my request. "Say, I know it's asking a lot, but can I crash on your couch or something for the day?"
She didn't respond.
I continued, "I don't want to talk to the press, so I can't go back to my apartment. They're everywhere. I...I just need peace and quiet."
A few seconds elapsed before she said, "Of course you can."
I sighed. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Diane. I can't even tell you."
"It's no problem. Let me give you my address."
I jotted it down on the card. She lived in Allston.
The minute I hung up, the pain settled in.
I sneaked aboard a train to Harvard Square, hanging out in the control room with the driver. I got out and went into the pharmacy. It took them more than an hour to fill that prescription. I swallowed a pill without any water.
Every minute sucked.
Back in Harvard Square station, I took a bus to Allston. I had to walk about five blocks from the stop to Diane's home. The pain began to die away. Instead, I felt woozy.
The day had become scorchingly hot and humid, but I noticed on the painful walk that I wasn't sweating. Every fifty yards or so I stopped to address a leg cramp. Fuck, I was thirsty.
Diane opened the door and her welcoming smile immediately turned into alarm.
"Oh, dear, you don't look so good."
"I think I need some water."
She escorted me inside her small two-story home. I sat on the couch, dazed. My calf cramped up on me, so I stood, putting all my weight on it until the intense contraction diminished.
Diane brought me a glass of water.
I downed it instantly.
She returned to the kitchen sink to get more. The next time, she brought a big 44-ounce cup.
I downed that one, too.
She brought another one, setting it on the floor beside the couch.
I didn't see it until I woke up.
***
It was completely dark, and I had no idea where I was for a minute. When my eyes adjusted, I remembered: Diane's home. I wandered into the kitchen, the hardwood floor cracked and groaned under my feet. I didn't see a clock.
But, I heard a door open.
Soft footsteps overhead.
I went toward them, waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
Diane was coming.
"I'm sorry if I woke you," I whispered.
"Woke me? I feel like I've been awake for two solid days. No, I was reading. I can't sleep."
I nodded, and she reached the landing. She was wearing a bathrobe.
"Feeling better?" she asked.
"Yes. Thanks."
"I imagine you must be hungry; you've been sleeping since eleven this morning."
"What time is it?"
"Just after midnight."
"Wow."
She turned on a lamp beside a chair and sat down.
I needed to piss, really bad, but it felt funny doing it after she'd just came down to visit with me. I went to the couch.
"Sure you're not hungry?"
I said, "I will be; just don't feel it, yet."
"Anything I can do for the pain? It must be terrible."
"No, thanks. I got some meds."
She crossed one leg over the other and regarded me silently. "I don't mean to be forward, but why did you come here?" she asked.
"I'll go. I'm sorry."
"No, no. I'm not asking you to do that. It's the middle fo the night, for goodness' sake. I just want to understand why you're here."
I shrugged. "Like I said before, I don't feel like talking to the press or anything, and the parking lot around my apartment was full of news vehicles. Can't stay at work. You offered to help."
"Don't you have friends? Family in the area?"
"Just moved here in May. I live in my sister's apartment; she's out of town. Parents in Virginia."
She watched me and then asked, "Why is it that you don't want to talk to the press?"
I thought about the question, then pushed it aside, saying, instead, "I'm keeping you up."
She waved that off. "I'm up. I'm fine."
"Is it a problem that I'm here?"
"You mean that I've invited a young man, a man half my age—practically a boy, really—a boy I barely know, and one with bullet wounds to stay in my house? Is that what you mean?"
I guffawed, but her face didn't betray any hint that she was joking.
Then, she said, "You saved my life, so it's not a problem unless you make it one." She offered me a small grin. Then, as if the idea just occurred to her, she said, "My daughter might find it disconcerting, but she's not here."
"Where is she?"
"Holyoke."
"That a college?"
She nodded.
"Where?"
"South Hadley."
I shook my head.
"Western Mass, near Springfield."
"What year is she?"
"Just finished freshman year. She's staying on campus for swim."
"She's a swimmer?"
Diane said, "Yes. She just had a meet in New York yesterday."
"How'd she do?"
"I don't know, yet. All she wanted to talk about was if I was okay. She was going to skip it to come home, but I persuaded her to go ahead and compete." Then, turning from me, she said, absently, "I ought to call her to see how it went."
I didn't say anything.
"Text," she decided, and she walked to the kitchen. When she came back, her thumbs busily typed out a message.
"Diane, where's the bathroom?"
She pointed.
Nothing made a sound in that house until I pissed. The stream echoed deeply in the bathroom. I shook my head, cursing silently. The sound from this piss reverberated like the flow from a garden hose down a cavernous well.
And I pissed for probably a minute and a half. At one point, I even muttered, "Shit" out loud at the volume of piss coming out of me.
When I came back into the sitting area, Diane intently read something on her phone.
"What did your daughter say about me being here—if you don't mind my asking?"
"I—I didn't tell her, actually."
"Why not?"
Diane's body remained still, but her head slowly turned to me. Staring for a few seconds, she finally said, "Because this is crazy. It's crazy that you're here, and Joanne—that's her name—she would race home if she knew."
"I'll go."
Diane shook her head. "It's not that. It's that I don't understand why you won't appear for the press. That's why you're here, in this house: to avoid appearing publicly." She shook her head in wonderment. "You're a hero. Why not just...?"
I cut her off. "I'm no hero. Hell, the only reason I came back into the store was because that guy, the shooter, he—he called me 'Lucky Day.' He said, 'Keep going, Lucky Day' or something like that, and it pissed me off. I turned back because I was thinking about smacking him around. I'm an asshole."
Diane opened her mouth to respond, but I continued.
"I live with my older sister because my job doesn't pay well enough. Got furloughed in my last job before I moved here. No one else would hire me. So, there's that, and I fucked up my marriage."
"You're—!"
"She's divorcing me. I should never have married her. I did it for horrible reasons. Here's this sweet, kind Jehovah's Witness girl, and she loses her family because of me. She gets kicked out of her church because of me. She loses her own faith because of me. Her father just died a few days ago, and she never got to see or talk to him because of me."
Dine shifted uncomfortably.
I shook my head. "And I'm a fucking idiot, Diane. Dumb. I'm dumb. I never worked hard in school. Never did any studying, and I had all kinds of scholarship offers for football. I could have gone to college for free, but I was too stupid to just put in the work."
I looked at Diane. She remained still.
"Does a hero spend a month and a half in juvie during high school because he put two kids in the hospital?" I asked.
She didn't respond.
"Hero? Fuck that. Failure. I'm a failure. Failed high school. Failed marriage. Failed job. Failed fucking life. And I refuse to be called a hero and be a hypocrite, too."
I sighed.
"I hate my fucking life."
Half a minute elapsed in silence before I glanced at Diane. She was looking at the floor, in deep thought, it seemed.
I said, "I'm sorry to unload all that on you."
"Sometimes things just need to be unloaded."
We sat in silence for a long time. She checked her phone and typed out something. Then, Diane said, "Write a press release. I will make sure it gets to the Globe and the news stations. Maybe if they have your statement, they will leave you alone."
"A press release?"
"Just a statement—it doesn't have to be very long. Write a paragraph or two about the incident and tell the press about your preference to remain out of the public's eye," she explained. "I'll help you."
"Now?"
"I'm awake. You up for a little writing?" She rose from the chair and gestured for me to follow her. "Come on."
I followed her to the dining area beside her kitchen. There was a small nook with a laptop. Diane sat in the chair and turned it on, opening up some writing application.
Then, she turned to me and said, "I'm ready."
"I'll type it. You don't have to..."
"With your shoulder injury? I don't think so."
"Please, Diane. I'll be fine. I'm only moving my hands."
She shrugged, got up, and gestured for me to sit.
"How will they know it's really from me?" I asked, taking the seat.
"Leave a few details about yourself."
"Okay."
"Start by giving it a title and a date, something like 'official statement of' and put your full name and address. Then give it a date and time."
I started typing.
Diane laughed.
"What?" I asked.
"You type with your index fingers," she said, still chuckling.
"I didn't do much writing in high school."
"I guess not."
I continued.
She noted a spelling error and a missing punctuation mark. I corrected them.
"Now," Diane said, "tell the story of what happened. Start with what brought you to the bookstore and go from there."
I wrote, feeling like a high schooler again with Diane as my teacher.
She smelled wonderful, and her body touched mine in places—her shoulder grazed mu uninjured one as she pointed to a word on the screen. Her hand moved mine off the tracking pad to correct a mistake herself. At some point, when she seemed satisfied with my progress, she rose and placed a hand on my back.
I let a relaxed sigh slip out, and Diane said, "Oh, did I hurt you?"
I glanced up at her. "No. Not at all. Helped me relax." I resumed writing.
She replaced her hand.
I typed a few more words, finishing the sentences and beginning a new one. Her hand slid to the back of my neck.
She said, "Wrong 'there.' You want the t-h-e-i-r their."
I deleted.
Diane began rubbing my neck. Her thumb slid up one side, her index and middle finger the other. Up and down she rubbed.
I didn't finish typing the word.
The way she stroked my neck brought to my mind the image of her fingers on my cock, and I began growing hard.
"E-I-R," she advised.
I didn't type.
"Are you alright?"
"That feels really, really good," I said.
"I'll stop."
"Please, Diane," I said, "don't."
She stopped. "If you wish for me to continue, you need to finish this statement," she explained, her tone shifting to motherly insistence.
I wrote.
She made suggestions, gently touching me from time to time.
An hour later, it was done. I logged into my email and mailed it from there, and then Diane had me call the Boston Globe. They transferred me around a few times before I reached some editor, told them who I was, and mentioned the email.
The editor had me resend it to her specific email address, which I did.
It was done.
"Good," Diane said. "Now, take a shower. You smell like the hospital," she said. "I'll fix you something to eat. You need your strength."
"Where should I...?"
"Come on," she said.
She led me upstairs and down a short hallway to her bedroom. Through the door, we went into the master bath.
She said, "Joanne's shower is too tight a fit for you. There are towels and washcloths in the cabinet there." She pointed, and then she swept past me and bent over to turn on the water.
Her bathrobe obscured the fine details, but it could not hide the wonderful shapeliness of her backside. Tanned, fit calves poked down beneath the robe's lower hem.
Diane felt the water and adjusted the valve. Rising, she said, "There. That's good and warm for you."
"Diane, can you...uh...?" I gestured toward the sling.
"Do you need to wear it in the shower?"
"No."
"It won't aggravate the injury?"
"No, there's a bandage."
She helped me out of the sling, and then she carefully removed my shirt.
When I dropped it to the floor and faced her, she was staring at my chest, blinking. I saw the rise and fall of her throat as she swallowed, and she said, "Let me see your shoulder."
I turned around.
Her hands—both of them—fell on my naked waist. I felt her warm breath on the skin of my neck.
"We shouldn't get this wet," she declared. "Wait here."
A minute later, she returned. She covered the bandage in cellophane, and then she secured it in place with white medical tape.
"My head going to be okay getting wet?" I asked.
"Sit there—on the toilet. Let me see."
I did as she asked.
She drew close. Her fingertips gingerly nestled into my hair. She stopped. She didn't say anything.
I turned and looked up at her.
Her eyes had gone red. Her lips curled inside her mouth, and she sniffed. She stepped back from me, and she covered her mouth with her hand. Shaking her head, she uttered, "I'm sorry, I—I didn't realize how..." She didn't finish. Instead, she looked directly at me and said, "You almost died! I mean, I knew, but I didn't really know until...a half an inch, and the bullet, it..."
"I'm okay, though," I said.
She walked toward me purposefully. Her hand clasped the back of my neck and she drew my face towards hers. She kissed me on the lips and held it.
When she broke away, she said, "I'll put some petroleum jelly over the stitches, but don't wash your hair." Then, Diane leaned over me and sniffed my head. "Fine. Your hair smells fine anyways, so it won't matter."
Wiping her eyes, she opened the cupboard, took out a little tub and she spread some vaseline very gently over the stitches on my head.
"How do you like your eggs?" she asked.
"However you like to make them," I said.
She nodded. "Bacon?"
"Only if it's no trouble."
"Toast?"
I nodded. "Butter, no jelly, please."
"Fine," she said. Then, she glanced at my shorts. "Can you get the rest?"
I looked down at my shorts and then back up to her. "Off? Yes. Back on? May need some help with the button."
She nodded. "Holler for me if you need anything," she said and walked out, leaving the door open.
"Thank you!" I called to her. Then, I showered.
A few minutes later, I called for her.
She came up.
Peering around the shower curtain, I said, "I...uh...can't really reach my left arm. Do you mind?"
She hesitated.
"I'll face away from you," I offered. I turned, holding the sudsy washcloth behind my back for her.
She took it from me.
I slipped back behind the curtain and waited.
The curtain rings slid open behind me. A beat elapsed. What, I wondered, was she doing?
"Diane?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Here." She soaped all around my arm and under it. Then, she handed the cloth back to me.
"Thanks," I said.
She left, and I finished.
I was able to dry myself pretty well with the towel. I pulled my underwear on, but I could not button my shorts or my pull on my shirt.
I called for her again.
When she arrived at the threshold, I said, "I'm sorry, Diane. You're being really nice, and I'm taking you from your sleep. I should just go."
"It's not a problem and don't go. I just finished making your breakfast."
"Okay. My shirt—I can't get it on. And I can't button my shorts. Oh, and the plastic over my shoulder."
She approached and turned me around. Digging a fingernail under the tape, she quickly ripped the cellophane water shield from my shoulder.
My shorts slid down to my feet.
Diane turned me around. She knelt, and I watched her eyes glance at the bulge of my briefs before she pulled my shorts over it. Her fingers fastened the button, and then she pulled up my zipper.
After helping me with my shirt and sling, we went downstairs together. She made me scrambled eggs with bacon and buttered toast. I washed it down with water and thanked her.
I remained silent as she gathered up the dishes and rinsed them. Diane seemed to be thinking hard about something.
She closed the dishwasher door, put her hands on the countertop, and looked directly into my eyes. "This is going to seem awfully forward, and I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but will you sleep in my room tonight?"
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
She explained, "I haven't been able to sleep, and the house is totally empty. I'm terrified of every sound I hear, and I can't stop thinking about...about how I should be dead right now."
She drew a faltering breath. Her voice cracked when she said, "I know. I should have let Joanne skip her meet and come home, but I didn't want to be selfish. Now, I think I need to be. I'm exhausted, and if you're there with me..."
She didn't finish. She was weeping.
I rose. "Sure, Diane. Yes, I'll...I'm glad to help." I walked over to her, and she hugged me close and began crying on my good shoulder.
Haltingly, she said, "I'm sorry to ask this of you. I'm not usually this emotional, and I don't like being some damsel in distress."
"Come on," I said, and I walked her up the stairs.
I sat on her bed while she excused herself to the bathroom, unsure as to how this was going to work.
She emerged, newly composed, a few minutes later, still in her bathrobe, but she had brushed her hair and her face looked freshly washed. When she saw me sitting in the same place, she asked if I needed help with anything.
Gesturing to the floor, I asked, "Where do you want me?"
"Not the floor. Dear, me, no. With your injury? No. I meant in bed, beside me."
"Oh," I said. Pointing at my clothes, I asked, "Wearing this? Sleep like this?"
"Will that be comfortable?"
"I wouldn't mind having my shirt off, but if that's..."
"Fine," she interjected. Then, less anxiously, she said, "That would be fine. Let me help you."
As in the shower, she helped remove my sling and then my shirt. She moved to replace the sling, but I waved it off. "It's sore enough that I won't move it around. I'm not worried."
"If you think so." She folded my shirt and set it and my sling on the nightstand. "Anything else?"
"I'll leave my shorts on," I said.
"Yes, I think that would be appropriate."
She pulled the comforter and sheet down and gestured for me to climb in. I did, lying on my back. I stopped her from pulling the bedding back over my body. "I'll get too hot," I said.
"Very well." Diane rose beside me, put her hands on her hips and said, "I want you to be comfortable, but please do try and stay on this side of the bed. It wouldn't be proper for us to be touching."
"Okay."
She nodded, moving around to her side. She stopped for a moment as if thinking. then, she said, "I—I apologize for mentioning these things. I am grateful to you, and I can already sense that I feel safer with you here. I just—I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me. I'm old enough to be your mother, but we're...friends, aren't we? Just friends?"
Before I could respond, she added, "New friends?"
"Yeah."
"I asked you to be here so that I don't feel alone and afraid."
"Uh-huh," I said, shifting my ass in the bed. Even though I had slept for almost twelve hours during the day in my shorts and underwear, at that moment, they felt very uncomfortable compared to my usual loose basketball shorts and nothing else.
"Are you all set, then? May I turn out the light?"
I nodded.
She shut off the lamp on her nightstand, and then I heard her slip out of her bathrobe and climb under the sheets beside me.
I shifted my ass again, still lying on my back. My eyes began to adjust to the darkness.
Neither of us made a sound for what felt like minutes. I barely heard Diane breathing, and I tried to keep my breathing as silent as possible.
When she finally spoke, it was a whisper. "Will you tell me why you came back into the store? I know what you said before, but tell me again."
I sighed, thinking. "I was pissed at him calling me 'Lucky Day' or whatever, so I looked back. I thought I saw guns through the glass on the front doors, and when I double-checked, I heard the first shot."
"But, why would you charge a man with two guns? You—you talked about how you hated your life...did you want to die?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"I don't know. Sometimes...sometimes I make choices after thinking about them. Other times, my body just goes. It just takes over—like it already knows exactly what to do. The bookstore was one of those times when I didn't think about it."
"Were you afraid?"
"No. If I had any feeling, it was anger."
"Anger? Really?"
"Yeah, I mean—you see these school shooters, mall shooters, whatever, on the news, and I guess it just pisses me off. They're cowards. That's how I felt when I knew he had guns, when I heard the first shot. It was like I was offended and..."
I didn't finish the thought, but Diane wanted me to. "And what?"
I shifted in the bed again before finishing, "And you were in there."
She didn't say anything.
I tried to explain. "You know I've never been a reader, but that store and your help...you kind of opened my eyes and changed me. You never judged me for being an idiot, and..."
"You are not an idiot. You're growing. You're a learner."
"Thanks for saying that," I said, turning my face towards hers.
She rolled on her side toward me.
I continued, "Anyways, it made me angry to think this guy was turning this place that helped me into a place of fear, and it pissed me off to think that you might be in danger."
Diane's voice faltered when she next spoke. "He was going to kill me first."
"Did you know him? Wasn't he an employee or something?"
"He used to be, but I never really knew him," Diane whispered, sniffing quietly. "I wish I knew why he picked me."
"Wrong place, wrong time. Had to be."
She sighed. "That's what everyone tells me, but I keep wracking my mind to remember if I had ever been unkind to him."
"No way, Diane. It was just a bad coincidence."
Her voice was on the verge of sobbing when she muttered, "I suppose so."
I wasn't sure what to say. Nothing was coming to me other than a kind of alert in my mind, flashing and telling me I needed to say something soon.
My head was empty, but my hand moved, sliding under the sheets until it found her hand. I held it, rubbing occasionally with my thumb and squeezing it.
"Thank you," she whispered, "for saving my life."
"You're welcome," I responded, second-guessing my words as they came out.
"And thank you for being here with me. I didn't know I needed you until you came."
"I'm glad to be here...," I said, swallowing, "...with you."
The shorts continued to bother me, and I didn't like being on my back. I scooted my ass a bit, seeking a better position.
Diane must have noticed. "Are you uncomfortable?"
"No," I said, "no, I like being here. It's just...my shorts. I'm not used to...forget it. I'm okay."
"You want to take them off? Do you want my permission to sleep in your underwear?"
"It's fine."
"You may. I don't mind."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
I began to unbutton them, but one-handed in the dark is no simple thing.
Diane sat up. "Here, let me help you with those."
"No, I can..."
"Let me do it, please," she said. She crawled near, and I could make out a blue or purple spaghetti-strap nightgown. It shined, and I guessed it was made of satin.
She sat on her knees beside me. Her hands found my belly. "Oh, my goodness, you're warm."
I felt her fingers search and find the button. She unfastened it quickly, and then, together—I with one hand and Diane with two—we tugged them down my thighs to my knees. She dragged them the rest of the way off my feet, and then, reaching across me, placed them on the nightstand over my shirt and sling.
Resuming her seated position next to me, she asked, "Better?"
"Much, yes."
"How is your shoulder feeling?" Diane asked, and her hand slid across my chest, coming to rest a few inches short of the bandage.
I drew in a breath. Her fingers were so delicate, her touch so soothing. "Still sore, but I'm okay."
Her hand moved back to my chest. "And your head? How is it?"
I felt the hand rise away, and then I saw it approach my face. Her palm cradled my cheek before her fingers delved into my hair near, but not touching the stitches.
It felt so good that I forgot her question.
Her fingers stopped. "Am I hurting you?"
"No."
Her hand withdrew. "I'm—I'm in your space. Excuse me."
"No, Diane. Please don't...don't stop touching me."
We were looking at one another, but I couldn't see the expression on her face, only the shapes and contours. A silent moment passed, and she laid down, beside me. Her hand, fingers fully extended, fell on my chest and began to gently massage it.
She whispered, "How do you get so muscular working for the T?"
"There's a gym at South Station."
Her hand glided down to my stomach.
I wanted to touch her, but my injuries prevented any kind of comfortable way. I needed to be on my side—my left side—facing her, but my right shoulder was no good from the bullet wound. I wouldn't be able to reach her body without stabbing pain, and laying on my right side, of course, wasn't an option. I had to remain on my back.
"I feel like I'm in college all over again," she said, caressing my stomach.
"Why is that?"
"There's a boy in my bed in the middle of the night. He's only wearing underwear. I'm nervous."
"Diane?"
"Hmm?"
"Please don't be offended, but...but I want you."
Her hand stopped. She said, "Don't say that. You want a young woman. You want someone like my daughter."
"I want you."
A few seconds passed before she responded. "You...you're injured. You're tired. You're not thinking straight."
"Diane," I said, putting my hand over hers. "I want you." I took her hand and led it down to my underwear. Then, I placed it on my cock. Hard as marble, it throbbed in her grip.
A whisper of a gasp slipped from her lips.
I turned my face toward hers.
She didn't let go of the shaft. Her grasp upon it strengthened, and she leaned toward me.
I bent to her, and we kissed. Her lips were downy soft. A faint whimper escaped her and she drew back. "We mustn't," she whispered.
But her fingers remained latched firmly to my cock. I glanced down at her hand and back to her.
She read my message. When our eyes came together, she explained, "I don't want to let go. I—I almost forgot how they feel." Almost imperceptibly, she stroked it once.
I made a low, airy groan.
Still gripping it in one hand, Diane slid the fingers of her other hand under the waistband of my boxer-briefs. Diane said, "May I make take these off? Make your erection more comfortable?"
I nodded.
Not relinquishing her handhold, she sat up and knelt beside me. With her free hand, Diane drew my underwear from my waist. The moment she released the shaft and peeled the briefs over my cock, her other hand swept in and wrapped around it. Then, she pulled my underwear down with her free hand until I could kick it free to the foot of the bed. Diane switched hands again so that she could return to her side next to me.
It was beautiful how she wanted to hold my cock, how she traded out hands so that it never left her possession for more than a moment.
"Better?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"I haven't aggravated your injuries, have I?"
"No."
"Because I wouldn't like to do something that made matters worse for you."
"You won't."
"May I continue to hold your penis?"
"Yeah."
"And may I massage it for you? Like this?" Diane, her fingers as supple as suede, stroked my cock once.
"Uh-huh."
Her face came towards mine as her fingers resumed a slow kneading and stroking motion. When I turned to her, she whispered, "Put your head back and relax."
I did, and Diane kissed my cheek, my chin, my nose, my temple, and my forehead. She planted her lips softly, and each time, I heard the faintest smack. From my forehead, her lips fell back down to my jaw, and then my neck. Once there, she latched onto the tender skin and sucked, uttering a sweet moan.
I smelled a hint of vanilla. Her skin was smooth, soft, and cool to the touch. Mine was hot, rigid, and rugged. Where we touched, the two textures seemed to mingle together in thrumming perfection.
She broke away from my neck and lay her head upon my chest like a pillow. Still undulating her hand up and down my cock, she asked, "Would I hurt you if I made love to you?"
"You won't hurt me."
She let go of my shaft. The sudden absence of her touch there was the only ache I felt.
I listened to Diane tug her panties away. She rose to her knees beside me. Looking down at my face, she drew the sides of her satin gown up to her hips.
Before she could mount me, I slid my left hand between her legs. She watched, spreading her knees apart for me.
The skin of the insides of Diane's thighs was supple and yielding. I felt as if my hand had found Diane's secret. Underneath the cool, no-nonsense exterior that years of single motherhood had taught her, there was the softest, lushest warmth and tenderness between her legs. I drew breath at the wetness I felt when my fingers glided through the wispy hairs and along the vulnerable flesh of her pussy.
I watched Diane's eyes fixate on the place where my hand explored. Her chest filled with air, and when my middle finger slid inside her, her head tipped toward the ceiling and she huffed, "Oh, my word."
Her hips began to gyrate on my hand, and Diane moaned at the ceiling.
The longing ache of my cock made me stop and withdraw my finger. Diane knew what I wanted. She straddled my body, reach behind her ass, and grabbed my cock. Guiding it into position, she lowered herself toward it until I felt her hairs on the tip. She gasped when the plum head nestled inside the gap, hugged on each side by her labia.
Then, placing both hands on my chest, Diane lowered herself. She wasn't tight like Esther; she was incredibly wet and comfortably snug. I was fully inside her a moment later, and the sudden pleasure rocked me. My stomach clenched. My head rose from the pillow, and I grunted her name.
Diane gasped. Adjusting herself very slightly, she settled into position and rode me one time, up and down. On the downstroke, she issued a cry of such satisfaction that my heart ached to hear it. Then, Diane's head and chest sank down onto mine as if she had fallen on a sword.
"Don't move," she whispered. "Let me—let me feel it this way for a bit."
I wrapped my arms around her back, stroking her skin through the silky gown. Remembering something, I slid my fingers down her lower back and clutched the fullness of her ass. "Fuck, Diane," I whispered.
"Yes," she muttered. She pushed herself up. "I like the sound of your voice. Will you say my name while I make love to you?"
I nodded, and she began to undulate on my cock.
I said her name. I told her to fuck me. I told her to fuck my cock.
She never once cursed, but she seemed to like it when I did. Even more, she loved it when I uttered her name. Each time appeared to usher her to some newer, higher level of pleasure.
I cannot lie; I was torn. A part of me was in pain. The bed shook with her undulations, and my right shoulder jabbed with agony every time she impaled herself. Another part of me was thinking that it was, far and away, the greatest fuck of my life.
This pronouncement didn't amount to much, however. I had only had sex with Esther, and that apparently had never gone well for her.
Now, I knew. As Star taught me with kisses and touches, I tried to read Diane. I felt the motion she liked, the angle and pace. I barely moved, letting her seek out her own pleasure, but I read. I listened. I felt and committed it to memory.
Suddenly, she cried, "Now, together. Push with me."
I did. My injured shoulder felt like a knife twisted into the muscle, but I clutched Diane's ass and, following her lead, drove my cock as she mauled onto me.
She hollered, "Yes!" and her voice leaped an octave higher.
I called her name and her face plummeted to mine. Her tongue dove into my mouth, and she moaned her orgasm down my throat.
If it had not been for the pain in my shoulder, her pleasure was so spectacularly beautiful and feminine that I would have been cumming right along with her.
As it was, her body slowed and then sagged onto mine. Her face snuggled into my neck, and she panted there.
I remained still, letting her come down.
When she seemed completely tranquil, I flexed my cock inside her, and she moaned. I did it again; Diane snatched a breath. Again, and she whispered, "I can't do it, love. You must do it yourself."
I smiled, despite the lingering pain, at her formality. "I can, Diane, but I need to be behind you."
She gasped at my words, but not as if they offended her—more like they excited her. She rose and drew herself from my cock. Without a word, she crawled around on her hands and knees. When she stopped, she arched her back, presenting her ass, and she craned her face around to watch me.
I got up to my knees behind her, savoring the moment. I had never once had Esther in this position. I wanted it for so long, but it never happened. Now, here it was—a woman on her knees, giving me her pussy from behind. Blood surged through me.
She watched as I raised the bottom hem of her gown over her ass. She watched me squeeze her apart and peer inside at her most intimate place. She watched me lean down and kiss the smooth flesh of one curvy cheek. She watched my head vanish from view.
For the first time in my life, my tongue tasted pussy, and it was good.
Diane sighed with pleasure.
I wanted to stay there, but the urge to fuck was overpowering, so I rose and moved closer. Taking my cock, I angled it into the warm, wet place. Then, I took her hips and plunged back inside her. A part of me wanted to experiment and find what satisfied her from this new angle, but a much greater part simply wanted to satisfy myself and bask in the fulfillment of this long-awaited desire.
I used her body to maximize my own pleasure, taking myself to the brink of orgasm three times, only to ease back, relax, and start anew.
The beautiful thing is Diane liked it—really liked it. Not the first time, but every time after, when I was on the verge of cumming, she was, too.
After the third close call, Diane's energy seemed to exhaust. Her body began to slide forward so that the only part of her in the air was her ass. I leaned forward to remain inside her. Soon, I was supporting my body with my one good arm.
It was now, I decided.
That decision made, it became a race between the strength of my left arm, supporting my weight, and the ever-mounting need to cum.
Diane must have sensed this new energy. Her pants became moans, her moans turned into cries. It sent me over. With every muscle in my body flexing, I drove myself inside her for the last time and let go.
I cursed at the exquisitely sharp satisfaction of it—of feeling my body fire into hers. Diane's hand squeezed the sheets, and her teeth bit down on her knuckles as she cried out.
We sank together, me on top of her. Both of us panted. A minute later, I rolled off of her body onto my back.
I listened to her fall asleep, and then I covered her with the comforter. Throwing my arm over her tummy, I drew up close with her.
Sometime in the night, I grew cold. I slid inside the comforter behind her.
I woke just before ten in the morning, thinking I'd heard something downstairs—a door maybe?
There was nothing else for some time, so I relaxed.
Diane's rhythmic breathing lulled me into a mini-sleep. I dreamed about Esther. She had broken into Diane's house and was looking for me.
When next I woke, I had become painfully hard. Diane smelled like morning sex, and I wanted her. I shifted down and slid my cock between her legs until the tip harbored snugly against her pussy.
She stirred.
I urged the tip inside.
She woke. Her voice was raspy, and she said, "No, love. Please. I'm too sore."
I pulled out. "I'm sorry, Diane. I didn't mean to..."
She spun over and kissed me. Drawing back, she smiled and said, "Last night was wonderful."
"Yeah."
I sat up, moved to the edge, and put my feet on the floor.
Diane drew up behind me. Her hand slid down my tummy and took hold of my cock. "Oh, love, you're so hard right now."
I nodded.
"Stay," she begged. "Please."
I didn't move. She did; she went to the floor on her knees between my legs. Smiling at me, she took hold of my cock and bent her head down toward the tip.
I snatched a quick breath when her lips encased the head. "Fuck, Diane."
She hummed.
The warm, wet, and velvety texture of her mouth felt like a perfect balm for the furious rigidity of my cock. "Don't stop," I urged.
My head felt dizzy, but my body energized and trembled with power.
Diane moaned. She moaned again, louder.
"It's here. Fuck," I cautioned.
I was too dizzy to care about the movement I sensed off to my right. My cock throbbed in her mouth. Her eyes closed as if in ecstasy when my cum began filling her mouth. I called her name, and she moaned into my cock.
It ended as suddenly as it began, and Dian's mouth fell open with a desperate gasp. Semen flowed from the corners of her lips as she smiled at me. I caressed her face.
Then, I remembered. I glanced to my right and froze.
Diane saw me react. She was swallowing the cum when she turned.
A young woman—Diane's daughter, Joanne, by her age and appearance—stood at the threshold of the door, one hand covering her gaping maw, the other on her belly.
"Joanne!"
The word awakened the young lady. Her face instantly turned pink and she vanished, shutting the door behind her. I heard hasty footsteps through the hallway and down the stairs.
"Excuse me," Diane said, shooting to her feet and scrambling for her bedroom door. Her voice echoed in the hallway. "Joanne!"
I was able to pull on my underwear. I left Diane's bedroom and stood at the top of the stairs, wondering how this might play out. I could hear them in the kitchen.
"I can't talk to you right now." Joanne snapped.
"Why ever not?"
"You have cum on your face, Mom!"
"Oh, goodness, I apologize."
I heard the sink running, and a moment after it shut off, Joanne said, "Why didn't you tell me you had somebody here? Oh, my gosh!"
"I didn't know you were coming."
"I told you I wanted to come home for you—wait. Who is that guy?"
Diane didn't respond for a moment. "He's the young man who..."
"Is that the guy who...?"
"Yes. Him."
"That guy? The bookstore hero? I just saw you suck off the bookstore hero?"
"Don't be coarse, Joanne, but yes."
"Mom, he's barely older than I am!"
"I know dear, but..."
"Did he...he spent the night here, didn't he?"
"Yes. Listen, I know I have a lot of explaining to do, but please don't leave. Don't go. I need to see you. I really do. I wish the timing had been different, for course, but don't go."
"I can't stay here! What? And meet him or something? Absolutely not."
"But, he's..."
"I don't care if he saved your life, Mom. He saw me—I just saw his penis, and it was in your mouth. He doesn't want to see me, and I don't want to see him. 'Oh, hi, nice to meet you! Did you enjoy my mother's blowjob?'"
"Don't be so dramatic, Joanne. Let me talk to him and explain things. It will be fine, I promise you. Just don't leave."
Silence for a few seconds, and then, "Fine. Whatever."
I tip-toed back into Diane's bedroom.
I was about to close the door when I hear Joanne again. "Wait. Mom."
"What is it?"
"Before you go back upstairs, can you tell me something?"
"Go ahead."
I sneaked back to the top of the stairs, listening.
"I mean, I thought you said...you told me when I was in eighth grade that you were all done with..."
Diane said, "I meant what I said when I said it. This was...it was unexpected."
"But, does this mean that you might...?"
"I don't know, dear. There are so many things in my head right now."
Joanne waited, it seemed.
Diane said, "Maybe."
Joanne cried out in joy; Diane laughed.
"Mom, this is good! This is great! I want you to be happy. I don't want you to be all lonely here."
"Nothing is decided, Joanne. And certainly not him. He's lovely, but he's practically a boy yet, so don't get any crazy ideas."
"How long has it been?" Joanne asked in a gossipy tone. "Ooh, was he good?"
I didn't hear Diane's response, but she said or did something because a moment later, the entire house was filled with the uproarious laughter of both mother and daughter.
I went back to the bedroom.
A few minutes later, Diane entered the room carrying a plate with several items on it. She set them down and asked, "Are you upset with me, love?"
Was I? She had just told her daughter—as I understood it—that I was "certainly not" the man for her. But, her decision, it seemed, had nothing to do with things I could control. Rather, it was my age.
I wasn't sure how to feel. I liked Diane. I wanted her, but did I really know her? Did I want to date someone with a daughter that was almost my age?
Had I really given up on Esther? I was separated, but still technically married, so I had just cheated on her. But, Esther cheated first, hadn't she?
Diane's question, however, was not about the things I had overheard. She was asking about her daughter's intrusion.
Finally, I responded, "No. It's okay. She okay?"
"She's a bit stunned, to be frank."
"And you?"
"Embarrassed a little, but we spoke and things are fine," she explained. She shook her head sadly and said, "I do apologize."
"Forget about it, Diane."
Accepting this, it seemed, Diane brought the plate to me, saying, "I brought you your medicine, and I thought you might want to shower."
There was a pill, a small glass of water, a square of cellophane and medical tape on the dish.
"Thanks," I said. "Do you...would you want to shower with me?"
She smiled, but it vanished quickly. Glancing at the bedroom door, she turned back to me and said, "Perhaps it's best I don't."
"I didn't mean—you know—sex in there or anything, not while your daughter is here. I just meant that it might be faster that way and that...that I like you."
That I didn't mean sex was probably untrue because the moment I got a look at her, wet and naked, I would have wanted her. I liked Diane's body; I didn't care how old she was, but I hadn't really gotten to see it during the night. I wanted to see it all, and I wanted to lick her pussy for a long, long time.
"That's very thoughtful, and I do need a wash. Better I wait until you're finished."
***
Meeting Joanne was not as uncomfortable as I expected. She was gracious and kind, hugging and thanking me for what I had done at the bookstore. She didn't pry or ask for a recapitulation of the event. Afterward, the three of us ate breakfast together. Joanne was even a bit flirty, although it seemed less like a genuine interest in me and more like a way to jest with her mother.
Diane asked, "Joanne, has there been anything on the news this morning?"
"About him?"
"Yes."
"Well, yes, actually. They read his personal statement on the air," she responded. Pausing a moment, she looked at me and said, "You wrote that here!"
I nodded.
Diane suggested I check my email. I did.
The woman from the Globe had written back, thanking me for the statement. She urged me to reconsider a private interview, but was willing to respect my wishes. She was aware that all of the local news stations had received the same statement, and as far as she understood, there was a general consensus to leave me in peace. No guarantee, she added at the end.
"You can read it, " I told Diane, getting up.
I went to check my phone, dreading the number of missed calls, texts, and voice mails that I was sure to have missed. My phone's battery had died.
Fine with me.
Diane and Joanne read the email together. Diane said, "It worked!"
Turning to me, Joanne asked, "Why don't you want to talk to the...?"
Her mother interrupted. "Joanne, that's a private matter for him."
After a brief exchange of loaded looks between mother and daughter, the young woman apologized to me.
"It's nothing," I said.
Diane said, "Now that the press is leaving you alone would you like me to give you a ride home?"
Glancing at Joanne, I said, "Maybe that's for the best."
***
The ride to Star's apartment was silent; it was just me and Diane. When she pulled under the awning and stopped the car, she turned to me.
"We couldn't be a couple. It wouldn't work, love," she began.
I shrugged. "Maybe, I guess."
"I'm forty-six years old; you're just entering adulthood. When you're my age, I'll be nearly seventy."
I didn't say anything.
She continued, "And you may want children someday, but I wouldn't be able to give you any."
"I don't know."
"Don't be saddened. We're friends, aren't we? New friends?"
I nodded.
"And we'll always have the memory of last night. I know I will cherish it always."
"It was nice," I said.
"I don't wish for what's happened between us to ever ruin our friendship," she said.
"No. Me, too."
"You'll come to the bookstore again, won't you? You'll visit me there and let me help you find more books?"
"Yeah."
Diane took my hand in hers. She brought it to her lips and kissed it. After releasing my hand, she caressed my cheek and said, "Let me be a mother to you for a moment. You—you told me things yesterday, and I've thought long and hard about your words and I need to say something. May I give you some motherly advice?"
I nodded.
"You mustn't hate yourself—or your life. You mustn't dwell on past—or current—mistakes. What matters is that you learn from them and drive onward. It isn't our failures that make us who we are; it is how we respond to them that truly defines us."
It was deep, what she had said. I didn't have the words to respond.
She continued to touch me like I was some precious keepsake, saying, "Five years ago, I swore off relationships because of mistakes and poor decisions. I made a promise to myself that I was finished with men and sex. Then you came. What happened between us—at the bookstore and in my bedroom last night—reminded me how precious little time we have to live the kind of life we desire, if only we would allow ourselves to move past our bad choices and seek it out, don't you see?"
"Yeah," I said, trying to consider her words and not think about the thrumming buzz of her fingers on my skin.
"You read Grapes of Wrath. If you can do that, you're no fool. You're intellgent. You can start a new life, a new job. You can go to college. You can leave behind the life you hate and find one you'll love."
I nodded.
"Will you? I know you don't owe me anything. It is I who owes you everything, but will you do that for me?"
I looked at her. "Yes."
"Thank you," she said. "And remember the past only insofar as it helps you build the future that you desire. Otherwise, let it go."
"Okay."
She drew me close, and we kissed. Her lips broke away first, and she whispered into my ear. "Thank you for my life, and thank you for making love to me."
I nodded. "Thanks for helping me through this."
She smiled.
I climbed out of her car and walked toward my apartment. The passenger window of her car rolled open. I turned around.
"Come see me when you've finished Count of Monte Cristo!" she called.
I nodded, waving.
The apartment was dead and empty, save for the soft thrumming of the air conditioner. While my phone charged, I sat in the family room and read about Edmond Dantes, returning from the sea to his love, Mercedes.
At some point, I set the book aside—it was going to be a good one, I could tell already.
Diane's parting words were ricocheting around in my head.
***
The medication made me sleepy, and I awoke on the chair with the book in my lap an hour later. I rose, grabbed my re-charged phone and turned it on.
Holy shit.
This was going to take a while.
I started with Star's texts. There were lots, and she clearly deserved a response from me. The key bit of information was that Esther's father's funeral would be in two days—Wednesday.
Esther had sent two texts. She was proud of me. She was concerned about my injuries. She needed to hear from me.
My parents were waiting to hear from me before they flew up.
Never a big social media guy, the only way for friends from back home to reach me was by email and phone, and my old friends weren't big email guys. So, there were lots of texts asking about me, congratulating me, and so on.
Then, I don't know how a shitload of random people got my number, but there were tons of congratulatory texts from unknown numbers, and a few requests for interviews from news stations.
The voice mails were more of the same. It was nice hearing the voices. I got the impression my mailbox was full because the last recorded message was from the day after the shooting, and I found it hard to believe no one else called in the interim.
So, I began responding, staring with old friends and saving family for last. I kept the friend messages simple: "Thanks. I'm okay. Talk later."
I called my supervisor. He told me to come back in a week's time. The on-site physician would evaluate me for a return. In the meantime, I would be getting paid sick leave at 40 hours per week.
I called my parents. They were sweet, but I told them to stay home.
I sent a text to Esther: "I'm okay. Home again. Hope everything there is as good as can be. Thinking about you and your family a lot." I hesitated before sending it, and then I added, "Love" and my first initial to the end. I sent it that way.
Response texts began rolling in. I ignored them.
Star called, and I answered.
"Hey, Star."
"You're okay? You're really okay?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Oh, my gosh, you are amazing! Everyone here has been talking about you and watching the news. We've watched the video hundreds of times. Esther has been worried sick. We all have. Where have you been?"
"Hiding from the press."
Silence followed this answer. If there was anyone who understood why I might avoid the limelight, it was Star. She finally spoke. "I figured that was it."
"Yeah."
"Tell me about your injuries."
I described them, explaining what I could and couldn't do and how I was self-sufficient.
"So when we spoke a few days ago, you were in the hospital? You had just gotten out of surgery or something?"
"Yeah."
"That's so crazy," she said, adding, "Oh, my gosh, I'm getting scared right now thinking about it."
"It's over, Star. I'm good."
"I'm flying back tomorrow."
"Why?"
"Take care of you. Esther would come, but the funeral is Wednesday, and she needs to be here."
"You're not staying for it?"
"Dumbass, the divorce papers worked. She's got her family back. I'm a fifth wheel around here. Plus, Esther's worried. She wanted someone there for you, so it's me."
"You don't have to. I'm okay."
"I'm coming."
"Okay," I said. "Hey, Star?"
"Huh?"
"Do you know if Esther mailed the divorce papers?"
"I think so. Pretty sure she had to in order to stay at home."
"Okay."
Star read my mind. "But, you can retract them! You don't have to see it through!"
"Right."
***
I read and read and read. Count of Monte Cristo is fucking awesome. That fucker, Edmond Dantes, got so screwed. He had it all, and then a bunch of jealous fucks ruined his life. The troubles of Dantes made me think, again, of Diane's advice about the past and the future.
I wished I had listened more carefully to her words.
I wished her soft hands hadn't been touching me, distracting me.
I wished I could have licked her pussy some more.
***
I was reading on the couch when Star got home. It was just after midnight. She didn't say a word. She put her bags in her room, showered, and came out in black panties and a tee-shirt with a towel over her wet hair.
˘She sat beside me. Drawing her knees up, she snuggled against me on my good side. Neither of us said a word. I held her close.
We must have sat together like that for twenty minutes, maybe more, before she sat up, tugged the towel from her hair, and said, "Tell me how I can help you."
This was Star at her most sincere. There would be no jokes. No stupid games or tricks.
She waited for an answer.
I felt empty. What did I need?
I glanced at her tiny black panties and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "Let me use my tongue?"
A look of deepest sympathy spread over her face.
She rose and took my hand. Leading me to her bedroom, she let go of my hand and crawled onto the bed. One side of Star's panties had ridden inside, exposing a curvy swath of tanned flesh. Even in my state of emotional numbness, my heart ached at the sight of Star's ass and her beautiful, naked thighs as she made her way to the headboard on all fours.
Stacking two pillows, she spun over and laid down. The pillows propped her head; the rest of her body lay prostrate. Watching me, she raised her knees and spread them wide. Then, Star reached under one leg and drew the crotch of her panties aside. Star's eyes fell to the place between her legs. Her lips fell open as she surveyed her pussy. Then, she looked at me, waiting.
***
End Note: Errors belong to me. Thanks for reading and leaving your thoughts. More soon.Esther and Star Ch. 06
Sister or wife? Finding a new path forward.
I've got a high school friend who collects sneakers. He came from a fairly poor family. Back then, his shoes were always the knock-off brand. We all had Nikes or Adidas; he had Ponys or Zips. But, the minute he started making money on his own, he didn't upgrade his apartment or his car; he bought the most expensive sneakers on the market. He keeps on buying new ones every time his paycheck rolls in.
Point is, sometimes the thing we're denied in our youths can become our obsession as adults.
I mention this because, after years of never getting the chance with Esther, the moment my tongue and Star's vagina met, I became addicted to licking pussy. The years that Esther and I had been married where I wasn't allowed to give her oral sex? They just pissed me off. What a fucking waste.
My future needed to involve women who loved spreading their legs for my mouth.
Every now and then, one hears from some suspicious source that pussy-eating is taboo or unmanly. I even saw a YouTube video where some woman—a woman!—said she didn't like it when men ate her out. At the time, I suppose it gave me some solace since Esther refused my advances.
Yeah, I thought, it's unmanly! Damn right, I said to myself, even though in my heart I burned to try it, just once.
Now, what do I think? Nah, it's for guys. Girls, too. But, pussy eating is definitely for guys. I mean, I suppose it might be unmanly if you ate pussy like—I don't know—like you were dining with the fucking royal family, being all proper and delicate about it. Being hesitant and servile.
But that wasn't how I wanted to eat Star's pussy, and it wasn't how she wanted hers eaten.
Don't misunderstand. I didn't attack Star's vagina. I didn't treat her like a platter of pies at an eating contest. I tried to strike a balance between getting what I wanted and giving what she wanted.
What I discovered was they were the same thing.
At first, I wanted to explore it, taste every part. She wanted that, too. Then, I discovered that my favorite place was the place she wanted me. It was the most exciting part of doing it because I got to hear the kinds of feminine sighs, moans, and cries that made my cock go from rubber to fucking titanium. The utterances Star made while my head was between her legs was positively addictive.
What about the taste? Well, when you get that kind of reaction by dragging your tongue over it—when you feel her body quake, when she screams with a pleasure so acute it hurts your ears, when she thanks you and tells you that you're the best and how she loves you and how her body belongs to you? Then, hey, it doesn't matter what it tastes like; the fucking thing is delicious.
Star's pussy tasted exactly the way I dreamed pussy would taste.
I spent well over ninety minutes between Star's thighs. I drank up a couple of tiny squirts. I licked every inch of skin and flesh from her belly button to her ass crack and in-between. I did it to her on her back, on her side, with her sitting on my face, and on her hands and knees. I held her virtually upside down with my arms wrapped around her stomach. I used my tongue, my lips, and my fingers. I sucked. I wiggled. I shoved. I swallowed. I scooped. And, damn, did I lick.
That pussy was mine.
Every time Star recovered enough to go for my cock—to return the favor, so to speak—I took control of her legs and dove right back between. She might have complained for a moment, but the instant my tongue found her spot, she relented and gave herself to me with sweet resignation.
When she was finally spent—and she expired before I did—she ordered me in the most definitive language to stay away. So, I did, and I listened to her exhausted voice ramble dreamily about my rugged hands and thick fingers, how she'd forgotten what a man's stubble felt like between her legs, and how soft, but strong my tongue was. She fell asleep mumbling something about my cock.
I rolled onto my back, invigorated. "A new life," Diane had said. Fuck yeah. She said something like "forget the past unless it helps the future." Fuck, yeah.
My face sopping wet from Star's pussy, I felt reborn.
***
I woke up just before 8:30am.
While Star slept, I crept out of her room and made a phone call. It took damn near ten minutes of getting shoved around and transferred, but once I explained that I was the Bookstore Hero—I didn't use those words—I reached my target.
The guy remembered me from three years ago, and he knew I was the same guy from the bookstore.
First, Apologized for letting him down. Next, I explained my situation. I told him what I wanted and when I could do it because I would be recovering for a few weeks.
Without hesitation, he agreed, and he added a few bonuses to my proposal, too. I thanked him for the chance.
He said, "No, no. I'm looking forward to this. Thank you."
Then, I called my supervisor at the T, thanked him, and quit my job.
Twenty minutes later, the President of the MBTA called me. We worked out a deal.
The last thing to do was jump on the Internet and search and search and search until I found what I needed.
It didn't take me as long as I expected, but it cost more than I planned. I had to buy it on eBay.
***
Star was awake when I came back into her room.
"Where did you go?"
"Knock out a couple of things is all."
She nodded and waved me back into bed.
I climbed in beside her. "Hey, Star, why do you keep telling me not to give up on Esther? Do you know something I don't?"
She considered the question for a moment before responding. "She loves you. I know she does."
"She told you?"
"No, but I feel it," she said, "And you love her."
I debated telling Star the truth, but not for long. "You should know something, Star, and it's not something I've ever told anyone."
She stared at me.
"I never loved her. I don't. I've said the words, but I never truly meant them. I just—I didn't want to break her heart."
"That's not true," she argued.
"It is. I dated her because she was the one girl that I shouldn't have been able to date—with her religion and all. It's not possible, people would say. Every other girl in my class, I probably could have gone out with, but not being supposed to date Esther made me want to."
Star didn't respond.
"She wasn't even that great looking when we first dated, but she—she blossomed, didn't she? By the time..."
Star finished the thought for me. "By the time you were married, she was gorgeous. You're right, but when you first got together, Mom sent me pictures and I wondered, 'Why her?'" She cocked her he'd to the side and asked, "So, what's your point here?"
I said, "I suppose I'm getting at the idea that by dating her I hoped she might change in some ways—that I would come to love her at some point."
"But, she has changed! Think of how different she is now."
I stared at Star. "For you."
"Oh, I know you think she's given up, but don't you give up."
"Hasn't she given up?"
Star's response was sudden and insistent. "No! She loves you." In the silence that followed, she stared at me for a moment and then, with an effort, admitted, "I really don't know. Have you given up?"
"Honestly? Yeah, I think so."
"Please don't."
I gave a non-committal nod.
Neither of us said a word for some time.
I broke the silence first. "Star, are you and Esther in love?"
"All I wanted was to help her through these changes—help her back to you."
"So? Do you love her?"
"Yes."
"Is she in love with you?"
"Infatuated. Intrigued, yes. In love? I don't know. Maybe."
I nodded. "Star, what do you want? From life, I mean."
It seemed she was expecting a different question from me because she didn't respond other than to give me a quizzical look.
I clarified, "Do you like your work? Do you want to get married? Have kids? What?"
"I wouldn't ever rule those things out, but not right now. Right now I want to..." She stopped, thinking hard, it seemed. "I want to heal people and I want to feel safe."
"Heal people...wait, what do you mean 'safe'?"
"Protected. Without fear. Loved."
I shook my head. "The bouncers at Centerfolds would never, ever let someone..."
"It's not that. It's everything."
"What do you mean?"
She said, "I didn't know until you moved in. I felt it, but I didn't understand it."
"Felt what?"
"Unprotected. Exposed."
I shook my head again, not understanding.
She explained. "I've been afraid. I've been afraid since that night, since J and J. I just didn't know it until you came."
"My being here reminded you of them? Look, I'll move out. I..."
"No!" she snapped. "No. You being here made me feel safe, and feeling safe again—for, like, the first time in years—is what made me realize how exposed and alone I've always felt since that night."
She shook her head at me, but not as if she was about to call me "dumbass." This seemed more like affection and thankfulness.
I didn't know what to say.
She grew serious, and she asked, "Do you ever feel guilty about it?"
I knew she meant feeling guilty about what I did to Jericho and Jackamanie all those years back. Glancing away from her, I sneered, shook my head, and said, "Nah."
Tilting her head to me, she caught my eyes and asked again, "Tell me the truth. Please. Do you? I need to know."
She needed the truth, I could see the anxiety in her face.
I shrugged. "Maybe sometimes. I mean, to this day I don't even know why I did it. They had it coming, though, right?"
Star's looked away to the window. Her voice was a whisper. "They had it coming."
Then, she told me.
***
It isn't easy to write. I'll spare the details.
The Saturday exactly one week before it happened was Star's eighteenth birthday. I had forgotten about that. The following Saturday, there had been a party. Star went with a friend and her friend's boyfriend. She drank too much, too fast, and by midnight, she wanted to go home and sleep it off. Jericho offered her a ride.
Star remembered climbing in the back and laying down to sleep. The next thing she remembered was Jackamanie climbing into the back of the car beside her. Then, Jericho drove off.
Jackamanie got handsy with her. Star complained, and Jericho pulled over on a dark dirt road in the hills.
But not to stop Jackamanie—to join him in the back seat of the Trailblazer. He had grown jealous; he wanted some, too.
As Star spoke, questions occurred to me, but I knew better than to ask. And, by keeping my mouth shut, the answers occurred to me naturally from how she told her story.
Shamefully, I have to admit that I didn't think what happened to Star even could happen the way she described it. I always thought it could only happen if the attacker had a gun to the victim's head or something. Barring that kind of threat, I always believed a person could just end the attack by biting down really hard.
Star, I thought, was too agile and athletic. She was too smart. She had incredible presence of mind. She could wriggle her face out of the way and fight her way free, right?
No, because it happened to Star twice that night. Jericho held her for Jackamanie, and then they traded places.
Afterward, they took her home, thanking her for her part in their pleasure and describing the event as if it had been consensual as if to reassure themselves.
Until I heard her tell the story, I never understood how such an attack strikes at the very core of a person. Star described the feeling of suffocating and just wanting to die. She described the rage she felt.
I couldn't imagine what she went through, but in listening to her tell the story, I began to understand the paralyzing terror that struck her in the back of that car, how the mind just shuts down to protect itself.
Star never cried during the retelling. If anything, she seemed hypnotized. Her voice never rose above a nearly monotonous mutter. Her eyes fixed on the bed.
When she finished, I drew her close to me and we laid in her bed together, holding each other in silence.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes. Then, Star asked, "Do you feel guilty?"
"No."
"I do."
"Like you say: they had it coming."
"Not for them," she explained. "For you."
"I'm okay."
"You were a hero, and not just in kicking their asses, but in never telling anyone, in going to jail for me, in keeping all of your promises to me."
"No big deal."
A minute of silence passed. I thought of asking her if she ever felt like telling her story to a wider audience. I thought of asking if she wanted to expose those fuckers for what they are.
I didn't ask.
It took—what?—six years for her to finally tell me. The best thing I could do is be there for her and let her decide.
"Will you tell me about the bookstore?" she asked.
I told her. Everything.
***
When it was all done and she had asked a million questions, she said, "See? This is why I feel safe. This is why it can only be you."
"What do you mean?"
"I need you here with me, always. You make me feel safe, just like how you made Diane feel."
"So, I'm not allowed to leave?"
"No," she said forcefully. Then, easing off, she said, "Can I tell you something?"
"Go."
"After that night with J and J is when I decided I was a lesbian. I never wanted to see or be anywhere near another cock for the rest of my life."
"I kind of put that together."
"Yeah? Well, do you remember your first night here? When we talked in the family room late that night?"
"Yeah."
"I told you I was thinking about guys again."
"I remember."
"It was because of you. I didn't quite know it then, but I know it now. I felt that way because you were here in this apartment with me, and I felt protected again."
I didn't know what to say.
She continued, "But, it can only be you. You're the only one I feel safe with."
"But, what about Esther? What about...?"
She didn't let me finish. "No more talking. Just hold me."
I did.
We slept.
When I awakened, Star's fingers gently stroked my cock. She had reached behind her back to touch me.
Sensing I had awakened, she whispered, "I need something—something I haven't needed in a long time."
I closed my eyes, enjoying the delicate caresses of her fingertips.
Star went on. "You'll need to be gentle and sweet—go slow."
Without another word, she shifted her body, scooting her ass closer to me and raising her leg. Her hand guided my cock between her thighs. She wiggled the tip into place and pushed herself against it.
She wasn't particularly wet, but as my cock snaked inside, I felt her body saturate it in her fluids, easing my passage. Once fully mated, I groaned at the sensation of being so utterly and perfectly joined to her. Star's body poured fuel into mine, energizing me.
Not wanting to aggravate my shoulder or hurt Star, I took it slow.
And it could not have been better that way.
Instead of a hasty rush to cum, ramping up my pace the moment things felt right, I just focused on the sensory feast her body offered.
In the past, I noticed smells at the start or end of sex, but never during. Now, I basked in the smell of Star's hair and how it mingled with the fragrance of her pussy into something quintessentially feminine.
There was no wet clapping of bodies this time. Here, I was listening to Star's breathing and how subtle changes told me the story of her flowering satisfaction. She held her breath when I plodded; when I could go no further, she let the air out in an open-mouthed burst. Between, there were short, airy cries no louder than a whisper, and every sound she made told me yes, keep doing that.
Without the physical exertion of frantic, cum-driven sex, our bodies felt cool. The only warm places—warm, not hot—were where we touched: her ass against my lower belly, my lips on the back of her neck, and the front of my thighs against the back of her legs.
There was one hot place—Star's pussy. The fucking thing was a cauldron of lava, but it needed to be that way. My cock ached for the heat, and Star's body bathed my erection in fire. I felt everything inside of her, places where the burning pressure eased and where it tensed on my erection.
At one point, Star sucked in a long breath and held it across two, three, and four deep, slow thrusts. Her body tensed throughout this, and for almost the entire duration, my cock felt her body throb inside.
Then, her body relaxed. She blew the air she'd been holding through pursed lips like she'd just finished a difficult rep of squats. Catching her breath, she turned her face toward me—toward the ceiling—and whispered, "I just had an orgasm. Keep going."
Just as quietly, I asked where, when I had my own orgasm, I should do it.
She muttered, "As deep inside me as you can."
Her words stirred me, filled me with more fuel. I didn't fuck faster, but I began completing my strokes inside Star with mashing potency, flexing my cock so as it throbbed in her pussy with all of the force of my hips behind it.
It was difficult, and I needed leverage. At the risk of adding to the pain of my shoulder, I took Star's hip in my hand to help me grind into her.
No longer whispering, Star cried aloud, "Yes!"
Her voice thrilled me.
My deep, slow thrusts continued, and she began calling my name.
Not long after, she told me she loved me.
She repeated it every time thereafter. My shoulder twisted in pain, but I knew it would be soon.
Star's body began flexing again.
Then, mine did.
I held us together, ignoring the pain, as my cock surged inside of her. Fuck, it was rapturous. It was the culmination of all of the denial and desire I had felt when I first saw Star's stunning body on the stage at Centerfold's.
At last, Star's voice diminished to a whisper. "I love you," she said.
Struggling to get more air, I rested my head on her back and said, "I love you, too."
Our bodies subsided, and Star said, "Don't take it out. Let me feel it."
"Okay."
I was softening a few minutes later when Star suddenly rolled over to face me. My cock slipped out of her.
She smiled and touched my chest. Then, she kissed me and asked, "Can I keep teasing you sometimes?"
"You mean the farts and boogers all of the other stupid shit you do?"
She nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah," I said.
This made her very happy. So happy, in fact, that before I could appreciate the glowing beauty of her grin, the sheets and blankets of Star's bed had suddenly been yanked over my head.
She dutch-ovened me.
***
Esther called and spoke with Star and me after the funeral. It was odd.
She was sad, of course, but underneath the mourning for her father, I sensed something else— fear, maybe, like there was something besides the passing of her Dad that she knew was coming, a thing she dreaded. Star and I got her laughing a few times, but each time, it ended abruptly, as if she remembered this impending doom.
I knew the issue wasn't her Dad because I had already heard what she had to say about that topic; the funeral had been the first thing we spoke about, and from our discussion, I had a good sense of her feelings going forward.
I could have been wrong, of course, but there was something else that nagged on her.
Adding to my belief was what Star said after the call ended. She asked if Esther seemed different to me.
I said a little bit, maybe.
Then, Star said, "She's been different—I don't know—maybe since we found out about the bookstore."
***
Esther's flight would arrive Friday afternoon.
As it was Wednesday, Star and I spent the next two days together; she took an additional few day's vacation to be with me.
She took care of me, changing the dressings on my shoulder, and keeping the sutures in my head clean and protected.
I knew from the hospital that the surgeries were mostly superficial repairs and closing up wounds. The main problem had been the loss of blood, but they gave me several pints at the hospital. The pain began to subside, and I was regaining strength and range of motion in my shoulder.
Star brought me food and sat with me, watching movies and chatting. Mostly, we read side-by-side on the couch. She read a book called Sexual Surrogacy; I read Count of Monte Cristo.
When we weren't chilling together, we were touching, kissing, and fucking.
On Wednesday afternoon, Star rubbed Vitamin E oil on my shoulder to help reduce scarring. I felt her tits against my back, and I got hard.
Star saw the tenting of my shorts, and when she finished on my shoulder, she came around and sat beside me. She pulled my shorts down and began rubbing Vitamin E on my cock until she built up enough of a layer to stroke me with ease.
When she knew I was about to cum, she bent over me and kissed the tip of my cock. I say 'kissed' because that's what it looked and felt like at first, but the more accurate description may be that she sucked on the very tip of my cock like a straw. Her puckered lips formed an opening that barely covered the hole of my cock, and so my cum never knew life outside of a human body.
Star simply sucked it loose from me. The tip of her tongue occasionally dipped into the gap between Star's lips and slid over the hole, wiping clean the cum as it emerged.
After this event, the daily Vitamin E rub became a time for sexual play between us.
On Thursday, when Star finished the rub, I took the bottle from her. I slipped off her shirt and bra, and then I began rubbing the oil into her nipples.
Apparently, it was a new experience for Star, and her nipples grew crazy sensitive—in a good way. In the end, Star sat on the edge of the couch, legs spread, and I fucked her while tweaking her hard, oily nipples.
Her climax was loud as fuck. It began when she cried, "Oh, fuck, my nipples." It ended with a string of ear-splitting curse words. I didn't think I was going to climax until I heard her screaming; I went from zero to imminent orgasm in no time.
I made fun of her afterward. "Oh, my nipples! My fucking nipples!" I said in my best woman's voice.
Star laughed, threatening to give my nipples the Vitamin E treatment and see how I liked it.
The next morning in bed together, I spent a good deal of time eating Star's pussy. Afterward, she was in a very giving, loving mood.
Still naked, she got up and fetched the Vitamin E. After rubbing it into my shoulder, she began to prowl around me on her hands and knees, kissing and touching me.
As she passed around my front, I caught a view of her ass that made me reach out and instantly seize it. Smiling, she let me climb behind her where I could take in the view—the curves and the shapeliness of her ass. I couldn't keep my hands off of it, and soon, I couldn't stop myself from kissing it, licking it.
Star liked the attention, and she grinned at me, asking, "Do you want to play with my ass?"
"Yeah," I responded. A little alarm went off in my head: she's going to fuck with you.
But, I dismissed it. Star didn't tease me during sex. It was always before or after.
Hearing my interest, Star laid on her tummy, throwing a pillow under her hips. Her ass rose in a striking curve from her lower back.
I straddled her legs and massaged, groped, kissed, sucked, and licked those two fleshy halves for countless minutes.
But, I wanted more. I spread her apart in order to rub her anus.
"Do you like it?" she asked.
"Yeah. You?" I said. Then, I touched it with my tongue.
Star said, "I had a girlfriend who loved my ass, loved playing with it."
"How?"
"Oh, like what you're doing. Touching, licking, fingering...things like that."
"Fingering?"
"Yes," she cooed.
I rose and reached across her body to the nightstand, bringing back the Vitamin E. I put a dollop on my finger and began to massage it into Star's asshole. It grew pliant, and the tip of my finger shined with oil.
I gently pushed it inside her to the first knuckle.
Star's ass suddenly came to life. Her hips undulated, and I watched my finger, knuckle by knuckle, become swallowed by her anus.
Star gyrated, and I stared in awe as if at a flying saucer as her ass fucked my finger. Utterly mesmerized, I didn't hear Star's question.
"Hmm?"
"Do you like my ass?" she repeated.
"Yeah," I said, then I asked, "Did you like it when your girlfriend...uh...did stuff to it?"
Still fucking my finger, Star nodded. In a voice dripping with sex, she said, "I liked it because it turned her on so much."
"Oh?"
She continued. "Some of our hottest times together were when she put on her strap-on and...you know."
Yeah, I knew. I knew, and as I watched my finger appear and disappear, I knew what I wanted.
I didn't even know that I ever wanted it until then. It hadn't ever occurred to me that this was really a thing to do.
Well, that's not quite right.
I had been with Esther for so long that fucking a girl in the ass was a thought I had simply erased from the possibilities my mind allowed. It just would never, ever happen—like hoping for a white Christmas in Phoenix—so why dwell on it?
I grabbed the Vitamin E with my free hand.
Star fucked my finger, watching me turn my dry cock into a shining pillar of slick, sticky flesh. When I straddled her legs again, she spoke. "Are you going to ask my permission?"
"Will you let me?"
Her head shook. "No, ask my permission properly."
"Star, may I fuck you there?"
"I don't understand what you're talking about," she responded in a voice teeming with mock innocence.
"Star, may I fuck your ass, please?"
Still pretending, she gasped in shock, saying, "You want to put your cock in your sister's asshole?"
I stared at the bulbous shape under me, the turgid flesh, and the silky skin that shimmered with light. My finger continued to vanish inside of it. I muttered, "Yeah."
"Oh? And I suppose you're hoping to—to fill your own sister's little ass with hot cum?"
My eyes locked onto her ass, I muttered, "Yeah."
Her voice grew semi-serious, and she drew her ass off my finger. "Before I answer, will you look at it for a moment?"
I pulled the two spheres apart.
"See it?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"It's small, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"And, there's never been a real cock in it."
"Mm-hmm."
"Only a strap-on and that strap-on was nothing like your cock, okay?"
"Okay."
"So, you need to be gentle, my sweet brother."
"I will."
"And I need you to be grateful when you're—you're all through treating me like a whore."
Hearing her description, I released her ass and protested, "Star, I'm not—I don't want to do it if..."
She cut me off. "It's okay. I know you don't. It's me. Sometimes I need to be treated like a whore."
"Okay. So, yes, I'll be nice—grateful."
"You'll give me what I want?"
"Yeah."
"Thank you," she said. "Then, yes, you may fuck your sister's ass."
I needed no further instructions.
I put my hands on Star's perfect little butt.
She adjusted herself, arching her back to grant me access.
Spreading her wide, I grabbed my cock and directed the plum head of it toward her tiny pink spot. When they touched, I began applying mounting pressure.
More. Nothing.
More. Still nothing.
Star sucked and blew air from her mouth as if she were lifting weights.
Even more force. I was stunned at the amount of resistance.
Her ass began yielding to me, and a moment later, we were mated.
Star gasped. It took another minute before she was comfortable enough to accept more.
Sometime later, I was able to fuck.
No kidding, Star had to labor. This was not easy for her, but she never asked me to stop. The lithe muscles of her back and arms rippled and flexed.
Though her ass was the stuff of male fantasy in proportion, contour, and allure, what ushered me to climax was how she struggled to please me this way. It may have been that she regretted the decision—underestimated what I had put inside of her. Maybe she overestimated her capabilities.
Those things didn't matter. She was going to see this through for me.
When my orgasm struck, I found I couldn't fuck anymore. I had to sit completely still, so it was more like an injection. The ridge behind the head of my cock was secured snugly by the taut ring of her anus.
Growling from my guts, I sensed the first dose of semen course up the shaft. I watched the length of my cock pulse, propelling the cum into Star's ass.
Star must have felt the head of my cock flex. Every time it did, she moaned, sounding less like the woman I knew and more like a much younger and utterly exhausted version of herself.
The surges ceased, and I gently slipped my cock free. The urge to just collapse, right then, on the soft bed had never been stronger.
But, I needed to do something first.
I bent down, kissed one cheek of her ass, and I said, "Thank you, Star."
"What did you think?" she asked between recovering breaths.
"I couldn't help myself. I needed it," I responded and then kissed the other half.
"Well, just don't need it every day. I can't do that all the time."
I sunk into the bed beside her. "Okay," I sighed.
"Remember, you owe me something nice," she whispered in my ear.
What did Star want? Did she have some crazy thing in mind when she insisted I give her what she wanted afterward?
No.
She wanted me to give her a nipple orgasm like the one I gave her back before the bookstore happened. There was one difference. "But don't," she said, "put your finger in my ass this time. I can't take any more ass stuff right now. Just finger my pussy."
"Okay."
***
Star and I picked up Esther at the airport that afternoon.
She seemed glad to be home but hesitant around me. Esther gave Star a huge, long hug. Then, Esther turned to me and, it looked like she wanted to do the same thing, but she stopped herself.
I said, "My shoulder is a lot better now. I can hug."
"Okay."
She went in and out. It was barely a hug, and I wondered if she hated my guts or if she just didn't want to take any risk with my shoulder.
I sat in the back seat on the ride home, letting Star jabber on about how much she loved Esther's Mom and her sister, how she felt bad about missing the funeral, but how I was healing and it was good that she came home for me.
Esther didn't say much, she listened and nodded. When Star began sharing some of the details about the bookstore shooting, she grew still and, to me, very uncomfortable.
I kept my mouth shut.
I was getting angry.
Yeah, I wanted Esther to be happy. I wanted her to think well of me. I understood how the loss of her Dad could screw up her head for a while. I got it that she was like a new person since renouncing being a Witness.
My anger had two very simple explanations.
First, her return screwed up my time with Star. The days Star and I spent together—just us—had bonded us in a way that, ever since J and J, had been lost to us. I loved Star, and I didn't want this new version of Esther around taking Star away from me.
Second, ever since I bought that book for Esther, she had been treating me like crap. She mailed in the divorce papers. Fuck her.
When we got home, Esther took up her old place in Star's room, and I didn't see either of them until dinner.
Esther, you fucking bitch.
For dinner, Star ordered Chinese. We ate mostly in silence. Star caught my eye once and gave me a very sad, sympathetic look.
Covertly checking to make sure Esther wasn't watching, I returned the gesture with a brief, disgusted shake of my head.
The two girls vanished into Star's bedroom afterward. I could hear muffled chatter from the living room, but I didn't give a fuck what was said, so I went to continue reading in my bedroom.
***
Esther went back to her mailroom job the next day.
Star came into my bedroom, sitting on the edge. "You need to talk to her."
"No."
"She's terrified."
"Of what?"
"Herself? You? I don't know. I couldn't get anything out of her."
"But you somehow managed to fuck her, didn't you?"
"What? No!" Star interjected. A moment elapsed, and Star added, "Hey, be nice to me."
Shit. She was right. "I'm sorry."
"Remember what you told me? What Diane said to you? About moving forward?"
She was right again. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
Content, it seemed, Star asked, "So will you talk to her?"
"Look, can't I just forget the past? She's the past."
Star grew alarmed. She said, "I can't lose you...or her."
"Well, you're gonna lose one of us."
"No! You have to try. Please. For me. Just talk to her."
Shaking my head in confusion, I said, "Star, what is it you want?"
Gathering herself for a moment, Star responded, "I need you. I know that, but I need her, too. I want us to be a family—you, me, and Esther. You're my love and my protector. She's my love and my heart."
I opened my mouth to set her straight on the improbability of such a scenario.
She didn't let me speak. "I know it's crazy. I don't know how it would possibly work. All I want is for you to talk to her. Please. Please give it one more chance. For me, please."
We stared at one another for a few seconds. Star looked desperate and lovely.
I said, "Fine. When she gets back from work, I'll go talk to her, but I don't know what the hell I'm going to say.
Star nodded, "Yes. Good. Thank you, and look, I think she's the one who needs to talk, so just go to her."
"Right. Another uncomfortable silence, hanging in the living room with Esther."
"No. You had fun when you went out on your date with her back—back before the bookstore, right?"
"I suppose, yeah."
"So, go talk to her to ask her out."
I sighed and nodded.
Star kissed my cheek.
***
Star was in her bedroom when Esther returned. She saw me on the couch with my book. I looked up and said, "Hey, how was work?"
"Oh, okay."
Without another word, she went to the kitchen.
I drew a deep breath, set down the book, and followed her there.
She noticed me over her shoulder and turned. "Do you need anything? Am I in your way?"
I shook my head, cleared my throat, and said, "Hey, uh, I was just wondering if you maybe still wanted to go on that second date with me."
Esther grew eerily still.
She misheard me, I concluded. I restated. "When you're feeling up to going out again, would you like to go on another date with me?"
Her face grew pink. Her eyes, too. Lower lip trembling, Esther's next two breaths came in stuttering gasps. Then, she fell to her knees, erupting with sobs.
"Esther?"
What the fuck had I said? I wondered. Before I could kneel beside her, she wrapped her arms around my knees, sobbing, "I'm so sorry. Forgive me."
"Ess, what's wrong?"
Between sniffles and bursts of weeping, she cried, "I took you for granted. I blamed you for everything, but all you ever did was show me love and support. I—I cheated on you with your own sister."
"No, Esther. Come on, forget about those things."
"No! You—you were the only one who ever showed me kindness in school. You chose me. You wanted me even though I wouldn't give you the things that all the other girls would have. You married me even though I was a freak. You put up with all of my Witness bullshit for years."
I put my hand on her back, rubbing gently.
She went on, crying, "You stood beside me when I was so confused. You found a way for me to be with my family for Dad's funeral. You saved all those people at the bookstore. I mean, you saved their lives! But, you saved mine, too!"
"The book, you mean?"
She nodded, releasing me to wipe her eyes.
"That was an accident," I responded.
She cleared her throat. "My Mom—my Mom always says that when a good person does something in kindness, even accidents have a way of becoming glories."
I couldn't speak. Esther was a wreck of guilt under me.
She continued, "You reached for me—when I found out Dad died—you reached out to me, even though I was cheating on you, even though I hit you. You wanted to comfort me, and I turned away. I turned to your sister, and then I didn't even invite you to my father's funeral."
I shook my head. "Well, at that moment, I guess you just needed Star more than me. It's no big deal."
"I didn't want to sign those papers. I didn't want to mail them in. I didn't realize how much I loved you until I had to do it, but those bastards wouldn't let me comfort my Mom without it."
"It wasn't fair. You had to sign them. I never held it against you."
Her body sank to the floor. She wrapped her arms around my ankles and begged, "Forgive me." Her head fell on my feet.
"Esther..."
"I'm not worthy of you," she muttered into my feet. Then, rising to meet my eyes, she repeated, "I've never been worthy of you."
Fuck, my wife—or soon-to-be ex-wife—was gorgeous. There was never a woman who cried in a more achingly beautiful fashion. I wanted to draw her up and kiss her, but I needed to think about what she'd said.
How did I feel? Truly, there were things she said that I needed to hear from her.
As far as my dating and marrying her, she never needed to apologize. I chose those paths.
Her words about her father's death and funeral meant something; so did her feelings about signing and mailing-in the divorce papers.
I appreciated the apology for cheating on me with Star, but since I had done the same thing—with both Star and Diane—it was unnecessary. Moreover, in the night when the remembrance of what I had seen between Star and Esther turned over in my mind, I got excited. In truth, I wanted to see them together again.
Maybe that makes me strange. Maybe there are dudes out there who would be so insanely jealous that they would never forgive their wives for an episode of lesbian cheating.
Of course, I had been jealous, too, but mine wasn't out of Esther's cheating. My jealousy grew out of how seeing them together exposed me as a failure and how Esther had permitted Star to do things that had always been denied to me.
But, I had learned. I wasn't a failure anymore.
In my view, I had nothing to fear from Esther and Star having sex together. I did not in any way feel threatened by it or somehow emasculated.
I bent low and raised Esther to her feet. "Thank you for saying those things, Esther, but you haven't answered my question."
She looked up at me.
"Can we go out on another date together?" I asked.
A short, sobbing burst of laughter escaped her. She nodded and her weakened voice said, "Yes."
I held her body close to mine, and her head collapsed on my shoulder. I kissed her long blonde hair.
Lifting her face from my shoulder, she looked at me and smiled.
We're going to kiss, I thought.
No.
We're going to do more than kiss.
Esther's tongue wetted her lips, and her head tilted to the side to allow my lips to approach hers.
Then, we heard Star's choking gasp.
Both of us turned.
Star's hands covered her mouth. Her face was turning bright red. A glassy sheen swept over her eyes. She was nodding. Her hands fell just enough to reveal her mouth.
"Are you guys...?"
She couldn't finish. Her hands rose again. They lowered.
"Tell me, Esther. Are you...?"
Esther looked at me and then answered. "I love him. We're going to try."
Star screamed and jumped into the air, pumping her fist.
It was a phenomenal leap, almost touching the apartment's nine-foot ceiling.
Esther guffawed.
Star landed, dashed over and threw her arms around the both of us. The three of us almost toppled over, but I braced us up.
I released Esther. Star swept her up, and they hugged. A moment later, Star pulled back, took Esther's face and kissed her, full on the lips.
When she drew back, Star said, "I love you, Esther."
Glancing at me momentarily, Esther returned Star's gaze, saying, "I love you, too."
A second, much briefer, kiss ensued before Star turned to me. "And I love you, my sweet, sweet brother."
Sweet, sweet brother? What happened, I wondered, to brother mine? What happened to dumbass?
Star clutched me in her arms. Her right hand slid behind my head, and she pulled me down for a kiss. I let her.
She held it.
Shit. Whatever.
She kept going.
Fuck.
Star's tongue delved into my mouth for a moment, and then she drew back.
I glanced at Esther. She had been watching us. There was no expression to see except for her eyes. She looked like a hungry woman examining a dish utterly unfamiliar to her.
Star watched me expectantly, an energized grin on her face.
I said, "I love you, too, Star."
Clasping her hands together between her tits, Star bounced on her tippy-toes a few times and said, "Will you guys kiss for me?"
I'm not sure I could recall a time she seemed more excited. She was like a kid standing behind the turnstile in the number one spot of a new roller coaster.
Esther and I looked at one another. I gave a small shrug—a sort of "want to?" gesture.
She smiled.
We came together.
I didn't think I had felt a kiss like that from her in a long, long time. I tried to read the kiss, as Star had taught me. She was soft and yielding. If I was right, Esther was ready to let me control things.
I heard Star whisper, "Fuck, that's hot."
Esther laughed, and so we broke away from each other, turning to Star.
Her eyes bored into Esther's. Star asked, "Do you want to? What we talked about?"
Esther didn't respond. She glanced at me, suddenly looking nervous. She nodded, saying, "If you'll help me."
Star smiled, saying, "But, not for me. For you. If it's what you want."
Esther glanced at me.
I looked from her to Star, confused.
Esther whispered, "I want to suck his cock."
Now astonished, I turned abruptly toward Esther. She was so nervous she was shaking.
Star smiled, took her hand, and said, "Let me show you."
Esther looked confused, but she nodded.
Star knelt in front of me; Esther followed.
My heart pumped like pistons in a race car.
"Watch," Star whispered. She reached toward my belt, unlatching and throwing it open almost with a flick of her wrist. Her fingers delved inside my waistband, quickly unbuttoning my trousers. She unzipped them. They fell to my ankles.
Without pausing, Star drew the waistband of my boxers over my cock and my balls, leaving them stretched between my thighs just above the knees.
"Star...?" Esther began.
Star gently shushed her and said, "Watch what I do."
Esther glanced up at me with alarm.
I drew deep, silent breaths. I must have looked like a man who didn't give a fuck. Anticipation and desire surged within me. I gave Esther a small glance while I waited for Star.
Star's fingers curled around the semi-limp shaft and drew it horizontal. She licked her lips and bent to it, her glistening mouth falling open.
"Star, you don't have to do this!" Esther urged.
Star froze mere fractions from the tip, turning toward Esther.
Esther whispered, "He's your brother!"
She smiled, uttering, "Let me show you."
Esther blinked twice without speaking, and then she nodded.
I gasped when I felt Star's tongue and her tender, wet lips. Drawing a deep breath, I felt Esther's eyes take in my reaction before returning her gaze to Star's mouth.
Her head came and went, came and went, bending slowly on each gyration. She was gentle and passionate; she sucked my cock like she wanted me to feel so, so good.
And she did. My cock had been the clay; her mouth the kiln. She fired me into rock and then drew off with a wet, sticky smack.
Esther and Star stared at one another. Esther looked at my cock and then back to Star. She swallowed. She said, "Star, you—you just put your mouth on your brother's penis."
Star shook her head, and with a gasping laugh, responded, "No, I just sucked his cock."
Esther smiled at the jest briefly; then her face became inquisitive. "But—but, you liked it?"
Star nodded enthusiastically, and then she said, "Kiss me. Kiss me and taste him."
Esther tentatively bent toward my sister in a kind of assent. Star closed the gap, and they kissed. Esther was hesitant, but when Star's hands began to sample and cup Esther's tits, the intensity ramped up. I could see the tiny movements of their tongues in quick undulations upon each of their cheeks.
Star pulled back, asking, "Could you taste him?"
Esther nodded. "I think so."
Star grinned. "Watch this now."
Her head dove between my legs. I watched her lips stretch out and latch onto my sack. Suddenly, one of my testicles disappeared into Star's mouth as if swept down a drain. My cock rested across her face, part of it touching the side of her nose, the end riding across her forehead.
For several seconds, Star's mouth and tongue massaged my ball in wetness. When it eeked from her lips, Star dragged her tongue over the sack and along the shaft to the front, finishing with a soft kiss upon the very tip.
Star glanced at Esther. Her voice had a sing-song quality when she explained, "It's fun—look at him."
They did.
I have no doubt that I looked like a man willing to do anything for the pleasure to resume.
Did they expect me to say something? I wondered. But, it didn't matter. I couldn't speak.
Star said, "It shouldn't be me doing this, Esther. He's your husband."
Esther looked at Star. Star met her eyes and led them to my cock.
I watched Esther stare at it. In all the time I knew her, her face had never been so close to my penis.
In fact, I'm not sure I'd ever seen her look at it—really look at it.
Star rose and drew near the shaft. "Come on," she urged, kissing it.
Esther came nearer, taking a position on the opposite side.
Star kissed it again.
Esther's lips pursed, and she pressed them into the fat, pink tip.
Star licked the side of the shaft.
Esther did, too.
Star smiled encouragingly and then engulfed the head, nursing it for a moment before loosening away.
Esther glanced at me.
My heart thudded. I felt like I couldn't breathe or move, much less speak. My entire body trembled. Somehow, I nodded.
My wife, for the first time, wrapped her lips around my cock.
Without realizing I had done it, my head tipped back and I groaned, "Oh, fuck that's good, Esther."
Glancing down at her, I saw her eyes widen, and she stared at me with my cock in her mouth. I couldn't help myself—I started laughing.
It wasn't derisive. It was joy, and I think Esther knew it. Her eyes formed little crescents. It was her smile. It made her absolutely beautiful. Her lips couldn't smile with my penis in her mouth, but her eyes could.
She didn't stop. In fact, Esther's head began to slowly take in more. With near half of the length immersed inside of her mouth, Esther's lips slid back and forth.
Star whispered, "Oh, my gosh, you're making him feel so amazing right now. Keep doing that."
Esther hummed a small note of understanding.
On her knees, Star moved behind Esther. She nestled against Esther's body, nuzzling into her long hair. It looked like Star had begun kissing Esther's neck.
Star's hands held Esther's hips. Then, they slid under her shirt and upward. I watched Star's hands creep under the blouse until they reached her tits, and they squeezed.
Esther moaned, and my cock felt every tiny vibration.
I watched the rhythm of Star's hands upon Esther's breasts—pressing, and then cupping and expressing them at a methodical, plodding tempo. Then, I gazed at Esther's lips crawling down my cock, coating the entire shaft in sultry heat before easing back to begin again.
Star's hands moved, arresting my attention. They slid down, down.
Esther squeaked into my erection.
I leaned to peer at the action below. Stars fingers opened Esther's shorts, revealing her white lacy panties. Both hands slid under the waistband and back. Down and back. Down, again, they rubbed and came back.
Then, Star left one hand on Esther's tummy, and the other slid all the way down and under.
Esther moaned.
I grunted.
Star's face emerged from Esther's neck. Her eyes met mine, and she knew. She said, "He loves it, Esther. He's going to cum."
Esther's shorts wiggled with the new energy Star poured into pleasuring her.
I could scarcely hear Star whisper in Esther's ear. "Remember what I told you: he's going to give you his love. His love is what's pouring from him. Welcome it. Take it all."
Esther hummed.
Star looked at me. "Soon. Keep going, Esther."
Esther hummed again.
My body was a wildfire. The pleasure—wanting it to rage on, go higher—burned within me. I needed more fuel.
She looked at me—Esther did—and it was over. Her eyes were the jug of gasoline tossed into the flames.
I called Esther's name. My core flexed.
Star said, "You can do it, Esther."
Her eyes still fixed on mine, a torrent of jets began streaming through me. On my cock, I felt the soft undulations of her mouth and throat. I heard the sound of each gulp. I had wished for this moment for so long that I wanted to fucking roar, but the pleasure was so acute that I stifled everything.
The pulses ebbed. I let out the breath I had been holding.
"You did good. You did great," Star cheered.
Esther swallowed one more time before slipping free of my cock and sitting back on heels.
"Didn't she?" Star asked, sending a loaded look to me.
Between deep breaths, I said. "Yes. Fuck, yes. Incredible. I loved it. Thank you, Esther."
At some point, Star must have pulled her hands out from inside Esther's panties because she was hugging Esther from behind.
Esther looked up at me, asking, "Did you really like it?"
"Yeah, Ess. I loved it."
"See?" Star said, gripping Esther's body in a tight hug. "You did it."
Esther put a hand over one of Star's, rubbing for a moment. She twisted her face back towards Star's. "It was easy. I didn't think it would be so easy."
"See?" Star responded, releasing the hug and giving Esther a little shove.
Esther laughed. She glanced up at me, and her face grew serious.
I didn't say anything. I just nodded.
Esther's lips curled into a shy grin. She told me, "I liked it."
Star rose to her feet. She said, "Let's go to my bedroom."
She meant all three of us.
***
Show me two dudes kissing, and I want nothing more than to get away from it as quickly as possible.
Show me two women making out? Fuck, I could watch that all day. Get me a tub of popcorn and a Coke, maybe some Milk Duds. I'm good. Do you have this in 3D? I'll pay the extra. What about IMAX?
What I liked about watching Star and Esther make out was that it felt like I was watching a movie. Not that it didn't seem real. Not that I was just a spectator to them and nothing more. Really, it was because they weren't doing it to entertain me.
They were doing it because they wanted it. Not once did Esther or Star glance at me as if to check and see if I liked the show. They focused on each other.
I sat on the floor under Star's torn rainbow unicorn poster and watched them.
Yes, I did feel a bit like coach had benched me.
But, I didn't care. After Esther's blowjob, I needed to be benched for a few minutes. Plus, I wanted to be benched. Sometimes when you're on the playing field, you can't enjoy the game.
Star and Esther never spoke. The only sounds I heard were soft moans and gasps. The room smelled like pussy. There were no devices—dildos, strap-ons, or vibrators—just two naked female bodies on a clean bed, piled with cool pillows and downy blankets.
Star took control at first, getting on top and exploring Esther's body with her hands, lips, and tongue.
What surprised me was how free Esther was with herself, giving Star unfettered access to anywhere my sister wanted.
Star liked everything about my wife, but the few early moments that arrested me involved Star's interest in Esther's ass. At one point, Star put Esther on her belly, climbing over Esther at her calves. From that position, Star groped Esther's ass for a few seconds. Then, as if finding touching wasn't satisfying enough, Star bent forward, clasped and framed Esther's two globes in her hands, and began sucking the flesh of Esther's ass-kissing, licking, and sucking.
And Esther not only let this happen, but seemed to enjoy the attention. She watched what she could over her shoulder with her bottom lip hanging low. She moaned encouragingly.
Then, Star rose and lifted my wife to her knees. Star hands slid all over Esther's ass before gently opening her wide. Then I watched the back of Star's head bent toward the opening she'd made.
Stunned, I quietly moved to a better vantage point.
Star's face was inside Esther's ass and not at the level of my wife's pussy. Esther arms and head snuggled into the uneven folds of a nearby blanket, and she sighed contentedly.
This ass-licking lasted for a minute or so before one of Star's hands came up near her face, and she began pushing one finger, and then two into Esther's vagina.
Esther loved it.
When Star had satisfied herself that way, she urged Esther onto her back. Still without a word, Star raised Esther's legs and climbed between, right up against her as if she were a man ready to fuck Esther.
I stood and walked to the side of the bed. They could not have cared less.
Star slid her hands under Esther's ass and raised it from the bed. Esther, sensing this pressure, helped. She grabbed her ankles and hauled backward. Star raised her the remainder of the way. When they had found the position Star was after, they stopped.
Esther had been rolled back onto her shoulders. Star supported much of the weight of Esther's core by wrapping her arms around Esther's tummy. Esther's pussy—and anus—were as if placed flat upon a table or a trough from which Star might devour.
And she did.
I mentioned earlier about how I wasn't sure I could ID Esther's pussy in a line-up and how I wasn't sure I had ever seen her asshole. Not anymore.
I would be lying if I said I never had the urge to join them. I did. I wanted to sit next to Star and sup on Esther's pussy together with her. I could list twenty other things I wanted to do as I gazed upon the female flesh before me.
But, I wanted them to do their thing. I figured when I was needed, one or both would ask for me. Besides, the view was gorgeous. I didn't need to climb and fuck around on the Grand Canyon to enjoy it.
I liked how Esther responded to Star. Bent over herself as she was, she still enjoyed herself and regarded Star intently. Apparently, she liked the view of her pussy being eaten. She looked like a sports parent who had, herself, been an amazing athlete, watching a child play the sport she at which she had been such a prodigy. There was a certain "yes, do that" and "good, yes, keep going" in her expression, though she didn't speak.
That Star loved eating pussy, there was no doubt—or maybe, more accurately, that Star wanted to give sexual pleasure to others, men or women, there was no doubt. She fed off Esther's satisfaction.
I could see the shine of my wife's fluids all over Star's face. And Star had no inhibitions about cunnilingus. She used her tongue, her nose, her chin, and her lips. She licked, kissed, tongue-fucked, nose-fucked, chin-fucked, sucked, lapped, and nursed on Esther's pussy.
Esther's orgasm was spectacularly beautiful. She was relatively quiet and subdued, but one could see in her face the struggle, the battle with pleasure so intense that it hurt. I loved the way her chin pushed upward, the way her mouth opened and barely a sound came out except for a stifled gasp, the way her eyes watched Star and pinched shut—watched and pinched shut—as each wave of her orgasm struck with greater and greater force.
When she couldn't take any more, Esther did, finally, cry out. It was an airy, almost voiceless scream. Her body heaved and writhed two, maybe three times, and then she sagged.
Star relented, letting Esther's hips glide back down to the bed. Then, she crawled over the top of Esther, and they kissed. After, Star laid on her side next to Esther and snuggled, occasionally dragging her fingertips lightly over Esther's tummy and tits. Esther seemed to sink into a light, blissful sleep.
Star turned to me with a pleading look in her eyes. I edged closer to her and leaned down, but she didn't speak. She reached back with one hand and tugged on my shorts.
Quickly, I pulled them down and threw off my shirt. My hard cock wobbled.
Star beckoned me into the bed behind her, so I slid into a spooning position against her warm, smooth body. I kissed her shoulder.
Star whispered, but not to me. "Esther?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you mind if your husband puts his cock inside me?"
I was already there, having raised one of Star's beautiful thighs and wiggled her open with the tip of my cock. It rested, snug at her wet entrance while we awaited Esther's response.
I couldn't see Esther, but Star's request was followed by silence as if my wife's brain were still processing the request. Then, I heard Esther's voice—no longer a whisper. "What?"
I didn't care. Star's pussy felt too good. Before my sister could repeat the question, I rolled us onto my back.
Star gasped.
I clutched her tits for purchase and drove my cock inside her.
Star's head tilted back and she moaned with satisfaction. Her tender neck was right there for my lips, and I sucked on it while I began to fuck her. My hands groped her tits firmly, but never recklessly.
The felt the bed beside me move. I heard sheets swish, and I saw Esther rise and take in what was happening.
Star must have felt it, too. Her head bent away from mine, and I heard her breathlessly mutter, "I need this, Esther. Don't be..."
I increased the pace of my thrusts, and Star, unable to complete her words, finished with a cry of pleasure.
Esther moved from view, and I wondered if she was upset. I could see this all being somewhat intimidating to her. Earlier, she had seen her lover—my sister—suck my cock. Now, she was watching brother and sister fuck. Esther might have felt like an outsider. There were years and years of non-sexual intimacy between Star and me that Esther could never hope to overcome.
Then, I felt Esther's hands on my legs and Star's. I glanced down. My wife tugged Star's legs apart and straddled mine.
For a moment, I lost sight of her.
Then I found her. The top half of her face appeared like a sunrise between Star's legs.
Star gasped in surprise. Then, she hollered with sudden, wild pleasure.
I felt Esther's tongue graze my shaft and vanish. Then, again. And again.
My wife, I had to assume, was licking Star's clit while my cock rocked in and out of Star's pussy.
It was so like Esther to find something helpful to do. She was never one to sit around, and I supposed it kind of answered my earlier question about her possibly being intimidated.
She may have felt a bit threatened by Star and me, but she was not going to let it scare her off.
Star's climax was shockingly strong. Her neck bending down so as to watch Esther, Star began to scream. One moment, her body was warm, smooth, and soft. The next, her entire body flexed, and it was like she was made of hot steel. Even her tits in my hands seemed to go rigid.
She hollered, "Yes!" several times in synch with the thrusting of my cock, and the last one hung in the air, less like a word and more like a call for help.
Star's body slackened. Esther sat on her heels.
I rolled Star back on her side, my cock still rooted deep in her pussy. The moment I withdrew it, I knew I needed more. The urge to cum had never felt stronger.
My first thought was to finish myself inside Star, to stick it back inside her and go. I stared at Star's ass, thinking.
Esther had been moving, I realized, because suddenly she wasn't. I glanced at her.
She was on the other side of the bed from us. She was looking at me.
She was on her hands and knees, pushing her ass out toward the door as if waiting for someone to walk through it and fuck her.
Esther's mouth was open. Her eyes were wild. I couldn't hear her breaths, but I could see from the undulations of her hanging tits that she was almost panting.
This was no time for kisses.
I shot up from the bed and stalked behind her. She watched me the whole way, occasionally peering at my cock in a way that seemed heavy with desire, but not without a touch of fear. I was like a seductive killer, it seemed. Would I love her or kill her?
Knees apart and back arched, her pussy and ass were on full display. I went to them, mounting the bed on my knees.
I reached out with both hands and caressed the sphere of her ass. It felt so good in my hands that when I circled my hands back, I seized it firmly.
Esther gasped.
I crouched behind her, taking in the aroma. It was pornography, that smell. Straight hardcore porn. I dragged my tongue over her pussy, tasting my wife for the first time.
My cock flexed at her taste.
Still clutching her ass, I did it again. This time, I kept going—along her pussy and up to her asshole.
Esther moaned, "Fuck me."
I rose, placing on hand on her ass and gripping my cock with the other. Glancing down, I saw my index and middle fingers near her little crinkled asshole. I put them on it and rubbed while my thumb bent under and drove into her pussy.
Esther tried to watch me, craning her neck to see what I would do—interested, but afraid.
I moved closer.
Cock in hand, I bent it down to Esther's ass, replacing my massaging fingers with the fat head of my cock. The underside of the tip came to rest against the taut, wrinkled skin.
I wasn't going to try to put it in there—in her ass. It wasn't what I wanted.
Well, that's not quite true. At the moment, I would have fucked any part of her—her ass, her armpit, I didn't care.
The reason I was softly rubbing her anus with the front of my cock was that I could. It was there, this part of her I hadn't ever seen or been given access to.
I glanced up at Esther, and she was trying to look back at me.
Enough. I drew back, spread my knees to lower myself, and placed the tip of my cock against her wet slit.
All those times, I thought, we had fucked before, I had never done it right for her. This time would be different.
It was already different. Taking Esther from behind had never been an option, and now I was about to do it.
I was gentle but steady and unrelenting. She had never been this wet before, and I sank home inside her tight pussy with ease.
It was very different. It was different because Esther's body was ready for me this time. It was different because I knew, as Star had taught me, how to read a woman's responses. Star had focused on kissing and touching, but I understood how her lessons applied equally to fucking.
Esther wanted this, but I could also sense that, even more, she wanted this to go well.
I drew us apart and brought us together firmly, but without the urgency and force I had always used in the past. I wanted her to feel both the strength of my desire and the care I felt for her satisfaction.
Esther's lips were pursed. She was looking to her left, and when my cock hilted inside her, she blew out a long "ooh."
I followed Esther's eyes and found Star, watching us on her tummy. Her legs were crossed behind her, and she rested her chin in her hands. She smiled at me, nodding with encouragement. Then, Star turned to Esther, and my wife smiled. A short burst of airy, joyful laughter erupted from Esther.
Star laughed, too, asking if it was good.
Esther's eyes pinched shut before she could respond. She muttered, "Ooh," and her arms seemed to give way. She nodded once and moaned as her chest sunk to the bed.
Star noticed that I ramped up my pace. She gave me a quick nod.
I mouthed the word "harder."
Star's eyes widened and, smiling, she mouthed the word "definitely" back to me.
I knew I had read it right.
I added power to my thrusts, thinking I would do it incrementally. None of it mattered.
Esther cried out my name. She told me "yes." She cried out my name again. "Yes!"
Suddenly Star was beside me, one hand on my ass the other on Esther's. She watched my cock drive home.
Esther hit her peak.
I had been thinking that I could go all day like this. I was wrong. The moment I heard Esther say my name, the upwelling of pleasure grew out of my control. When I felt Star's nipple on my left arm and when I saw her leer at my shining wet cock as it plowed into Esther, I knew I could not hold back.
Esther was finished, and as her ass sank, my cock sprang free. I was going to cum all over her back.
It didn't happen. With a suddenness that made the moment even more spectacular, Star bent to my cock and covered it with her mouth. The hand on my ass pulled, and I watched almost the entire length vanish between Star's lips.
Cum spilled from me. My brain romped. My body exploded with power.
Star took it all. Even when all was finished, her lips stretched out, clasped, and drew in. Her tongue coaxed.
When I released a long, sighing groan, Star loosened from my cock. She let her body down on top of Ether's back, wrapping my wife's slackened body her arms.
I remained on my knees, recovering.
I looked down at the two limp, naked, and beautiful bodies. They were like slain goddesses under me.
***
Sometime later, Esther asked, "How is this supposed to work—with three of us?"
"Ooh! I'm glad you asked!" Star shot up in bed, sitting cross-legged and waving for us to join her.
Esther sat up, and I did, too. We formed three corners of a triangle.
"I've been thinking about this," Star began. "So, first question: do we all love each other? Will we take care of one another, respect each other, forgive each other's mistakes, and be willing to compromise for the good of each other?"
"Yes," Esther said.
I nodded. "Me, too."
Star smiled. "And I love you both with all of my heart. Second, can we share one another without jealousy? We can all be together like just now, but can we handle it when it's just two of us. Can we do that?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"And, me, yes," Star added. "And I promise to never get jealous. Third, there must be no others. We must promise to be faithful to one another—to never cheat and go outside of our—our trio."
"I promise."
"So do I."
Star said, "And I promise you both that I will be always faithful to you. My body belongs to the two of you and no other. Okay, next is money. I don't know about this one. It could be tough."
"I don't make much, but what I do make, I will share," Esther offered.
I said, "I—uh—I'm quitting the T, so I won't have a job when my leave expires."
They both turned to me.
I explained. "Yeah, I—uh—they cut me a deal. I get two months paid terminal leave if I go on 'Good Morning, America' wearing an MBTA shirt and tell my story."
"Are you going to do it?" Esther asked.
I nodded.
"What will you do after?" Star asked.
"Couple days ago I called the head coach at Boston College. He's going to give me a tryout."
Esther and Star stared.
I tried to clarify. "A football tryout. On July 28th, they're going to test me—weights, speed, football stuff, and—and academics. Coach says he'll let me walk-on if everything looks good, and he'll make sure I can enroll in classes."
"Holy shit," Star whispered.
Esther didn't say anything.
I finally added, "If I earn a starting spot, they'll put me on scholarship when one comes available."
"You're not kidding me, are you?" Star asked.
"No."
Star screamed with joy. She jumped to her feet and began bouncing on the bed like a kid. Her hair flopped all over her face.
"Star, wait," I said.
She stopped.
I turned to Esther. "I screwed up back in high school. I can't go back in time, but I can do this now. I can try to make something new. I want to get a college degree, and I want to play football. I know we can afford it if they put me on scholarship and..." I shrugged my shoulders, finishing. "I know I'm still good enough to play."
Esther said, "Really? You want this?"
I nodded.
She said, "Then you have to do it. I'll help you get ready for the academics if you want."
Star screamed, "Woo hoo!" Then, without warning, she backed up to the edge of the bed, put herself in a football lineman's three-point stance, and yelled, "Blue forty-two, blue forty-two, hut, hut, hike!"
She charged forward and tackled Esther into the mattress.
After a brief woman-on-woman battle (Star won) and much laughter, we decided that the money question would have to wait until we knew more, but the goal was to share. The same went for other questions related to finances—health and dental care, taxes, and so on.
Then, Star said, "Last, I think we should get a new apartment. There are three-bedroom ones on every other floor; I've seen them, and I know the landlady will let me switch when one opens."
"You think we should each have our own room?" Esther asked.
"Yes, I think this will work the best if we each have a bedroom," Star responded, "and have private space, knowing that we may not always be sleeping in our own bedroom."
"I'm okay with it," I said.
"But we have to promise," Esther asserted, "not to grow apart when we're in our own rooms. We have to sleep together a lot."
Star grinned.
I asked, "Are you thinking a schedule or a rotation?"
Esther nodded, "Yes, but a flexible one. Maybe we have to sleep with one of each other once per week and all together twice per week, and the rest of the days, we can do what we want."
"I'm in."
"Me, too."
***
On Monday, Star went back to work, and so for the first time in a while, I was alone with my wife.
We went to the Harvard Square Coop bookstore, and she found a bunch of books to help me prepare for Boston College.
I showed her where I had found the book that changed her life. There was one copy—the one I had read—still on the shelf. Esther grabbed it and added it to the stack in my hands. Then, she kissed me.
"Did you lose your copy or something?" I asked.
"No, it's for my Mom and my sister."
I must have looked surprised.
Esther smiled.
We went to a UPS store, wrapped and mailed the book, along with a short hand-written note from Esther.
Doing it—taking the risk and offering her family a chance at the same freedom she now enjoyed—excited her. She leaned against me on the subway ride home, secretly rubbing my stomach and leg. She whispered into my ear that she wanted me.
Back home, I could not thwart her advance upon my cock. Both of us fully clothed and barely inside the door of the apartment, she pushed me into Star's chair, pulled my cock out, and gave me a blowjob.
When she finished, I took her hand, leading her to my bedroom where I undressed her very slowly. Once completely nude, I kissed her softly, sensing her willingness.
Then, I began the tits-pussy-ass move.
Like Star, Esther had no idea what to think at first. Then, as if my set determination to play with her breasts won her over, she began to react in short hums and snatched gasps. In the end, with my finger in her ass, the palm of my hand mashing her clit, and half of her tit in my mouth, she exploded in a wild, writhing climax.
Unlike Star, Esther wasn't as sensitive afterward. So, I laid between her thighs and explored her pussy with my tongue. Not really trying to get her off—I just wanted to get to know my wife's pussy—she came, anyways.
In her afterglow, she asked me about Star—when we started doing sexual things together and how I felt about it.
I told her the truth, and then I asked how she felt about it.
"You and Star? I was shocked, and—and then I was...I don't know. It's hard for me to explain."
"But, try. Please, Esther."
She considered matters for a moment, and then said, "It wasn't something sick, you know? You imagine something like that, and you think, 'Oh, that's sick.' But, it wasn't because there was love. I could see her love for you and yours for her."
I nodded.
Esther finished, saying, "After that, I guess I thought it was sexy."
"Turned you on?"
She smiled. "Yes."
"I like seeing you and Star together, too."
"And I know she likes watching us."
"Should we practice for her?" I asked.
Esther nodded, but before I could kiss her, she held my cheek. She said, "I'll never take you for granted again. I promise."
"When our court date comes?"
"We cancel," she said, slowly enunciating each word. Her face was stone-serious.
After we fucked, Esther pulled up a set of interview questions to prepare me for Good Morning, America. I had to fly to New York on Thursday night for a Friday morning appearance.
Then, we started on the college math prep book she had found at the Coop.
She was a good person. Some day, I thought, I would want her to be a mother to my children.
***
Diane called on Saturday after I got back from New York. She thought I was terrific on television, and her manager wanted me to visit the bookstore. I told her how much I liked Count of Monte Cristo.
It really isn't a revenge story. Well, it is, but in the end, the Count chooses the future. He decides to forget his past sufferings and see what lies ahead. Diane didn't know it when she pulled it off the shelf for me, but it was the perfect book at the perfect moment.
I thanked her and told her I would be visiting soon for a new book. Maybe, I suggested, the manager could see me then.
"I work Tuesdays," she offered.
"I'll see you on Tuesday, Diane."
A knock on the door of the apartment got me up from the couch. I found a note on the door; a package had arrived for me.
I knew it had to be the item I purchased on eBay arrived. I picked it up from our building's mailroom and, back in our apartment, called Star over and handed the item to her.
"What's this?" Star asked with an expectant grin.
I tilted my head toward the package—just fucking open it.
She did, ripping away the brown paper wrapping and digging her finger into the tube. She pulled the thick, rolled paper out and began to unveil it.
A new rainbow unicorn poster began to unfurl.
Star gasped, and her eyes darted to mine, wide, thrilled. Excited. She said, "I love you, Hatrick Farthands."
Laughing, I said, "I love you, too, Stella."
She giggled, smiling beautifully. Then, Star's tongue wet her lips, and she led me into her bedroom.
*****
End Note: All of my thanks to you, the readers, and especially those of you who took the time to consider, debate, and argue your points over this story in the comments. I have appreciated every word you wrote. Thank you. I hope this ending strikes the delicate balance between satisfying resolution and exciting uncertainty for the future of our once suffering, now reforged narrator. -FS