The Fair Thing To Do

A short erotic story about men and women having some of the same sexual rights.

*****

They are home on Spring Break. Eric and Erin are two years apart.

Their morning are spent at home. Their afternoon are spent with their father at his work. Dad runs a local hardware store.

Erin is a morning person, up early, and accomplishing much.

Eric is far from a morning person. When he does wake he sits semi-zombie like surfing on his phone, or glazed-over looking at YouTube videos on his laptop, or playing innocuous video games.

As he sits, Erin is busy and bustling. She walks behind the couch he's sitting on, back and forth, occasionally glancing at what he's doing. Which isn't much.

She does notice his morning stiffy, but makes nothing of it. Boys are boys. Hormones are hormones. And he makes nothing of it.

Well, she makes nothing of it until she notices the head of his penis is sticking out of his sweats. He's not touching it or seemingly aware of it. But now she is.

It's not gross or rude or worse to her, as it might be if more was out. It's rather alien looking. It's also rather unique in its own way.

He continues what he is doing. It continues to stick out. She presumed in short time it'd go down. And it does.

But it was back the next day. And the next.

She eventually works up the nerve and yells from the kitchen, "Eric, put that away or cover it or something, please."

He yells back, "So sorry. Yes. Okay."

But it is back the next day. She yells again. He apologizes again.

And this is all repeated the third day.

On the fourth day she yells, "Do you NOT have control over that THING?"

He yells back, "I do, of course, sorry again, I just forget about."

She stomps into the room, "How in the WORLD do your forget about IT?"

He turns to her, pauses, "Do you have control over cleavage? Of course. Don't you simply forget about it at times? Of course. What's the difference?"

That caught her off guard. But she recovered quickly.

"But cleavage is different." she retorted.

"To you, yes. To me, no. I don't mean to offend. Sorry. Just as you don't mean to offend or distract or arouse with cleavage."

She was stopped short again.

"So, you're saying you should able to hang it out as much as a woman is allowed to hang it out?"

"Yes. Kind of. Sort of. If you say something, I'll put it away. But frankly as cleavage can be fun or convenient for you, this is fun for me."

So for the rest of their Spring Break they had a Detente. She kept her mouth shut. He didn't flaunt it. He just sat there. She didn't complain.

And in time she kind of saw his point. Like cleavage, as long as wasn't flaunted, it became ordinary, part of the attire.

And in time she kind of saw its beauty, kind of like the beauty of cleavage.

And in time she was of mind to defend his right. Just as a woman's right can be defended.

And in time she looked forward to it. Just as a man looks forward to seeing cleavage.

And in time she fantasized touching it. Just as a man fantasizes touching cleavage.

If she was to take a step towards her fantasy, she'd want to touch it.

Not in full-fledged, all-out, fully-involved sort of way. After all, he is her brother. And she has absolutely zero interest in kissing or groping or anything of the like.

But she sure does fantasize about the sensation of that touch. She knows it'd be soft. She knows it'd be fun. Totally erotic. She wouldn't want to stroke him. But she certainly would like to do a lot of touching of it.

But to her surprise her fantasy isn't what comes next.

Because he was unintentionally one step ahead of her.

Literally.

He walked past her, on his way to the kitchen, with the head of his penis sticking out of his sweats.

She saw it. And she wondered how many times he had done that without her noticing it.

On principle she liked it. She thought it was fair. If she can walk around with cleavage, he can walk around with the head of his penis sticking out.

She didn't say a word. She let him do it. Full accepting it. Fully supporting his right. Fully enjoying it.

Some days later she went swimming at a friend's. And her mind kept clicking along. There she was. All body and minimal swim suit. She asked herself; what is the equivalent for a guy, for my brother?

She thought of a little skimpy suit for a guy, but she knew few guys, and certainly not her brother, would wear such a thing.

She thought of more his penis sticking out. She nodded to herself. But it didn't seem the equivalent of all the skin she was showing off.

She thought briefly of nudity, but that was far too much for her to do or for her to see.

Then the little light bulb went off in her head. Half-dressed. That's it. Shirt, no pants. That's it. It's not a perfect equivalent, but it's kinda close. She nodded to herself again. She was proud of her thinking.

Half knowing what to say to her brother. Half not knowing what he'd think. Half thinking she should say nothing. She let the idea simmer for a day.

And once again her brother unintentionally made it easy. He came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. A common occurrence.

He said nothing. Also a common occurrence. But it provoked her to blurt out what she had been thinking and pondering.

"Hey Eric, question for you. If you think the whole cleavage thing is fair between men and women, then what's your opinion of the male equivalent to a female wearing a bikini?"

Standing there in his towel the timing could not have been better. He squinted his eyes which meant he was thinking.

"Um, I don't know. Off the top of my head, nude is obviously too much. Shirtless isn't equivalent. I don't know. I guess there isn't one."

She was disappointed. She didn't want to appear to have an answer. She wanted it to come from him.

As he reached his door he turned and said, "Cycling pants, maybe. But guys aren't apt to wear those publicly." Then without waiting for a response he went into his room.

As he was getting dressed another idea hit him. He yelled through his door, not knowing or really caring if she was in earshot, "Shirt, no pants."

But she was within earshot. She hadn't moved an inch. She yelled back, "Not perfect, but I agree, something like that."

The next morning she decided to do some tanning in the backyard.