***If you are a new reader, the main character is caught in a reality where the same day keeps repeating. Each installation is describing the events of a successive same day***
I spent most of the morning watching TV. I know, sounds stupid when you live a life of unlimited possibility. Dr. Phil re-runs and stupid cartoons suddenly seem like a bit of a waste. But really, how wasted is time if you have an unlimited supply?
And truthfully, my time sprawled out across the black leather sofa of my family's living room held a certain purpose. Short of television being the best distraction I could muster to keep my mind from vomiting up that morning's unholy breakfast, the lounge room itself was the perfect place to wait for my focus of the day.
My parent's house was an impressive brown-bricked two-story, with a short, winding driveway and a lawn that was the pride of my dad's weekend. There, as had been the case for my entire life, lived me, my two parents, and Jen and Sean -my younger twin siblings.
I say younger but at this stage of our life the gap felt as though it was growing smaller. We had been -back in the days when sunsets meant the promise of a different day- like a unified trio, or undivided equals; but for the almost undetectable and seldom used authority I had over them in being just eleven months older.
Sean, my brother, was tall, black haired and handsome. In school he drifted on the fringes of popularity, and was constantly plagued by the affections of many young girls who hoped to understand him. But they never would, not like I did.
Jen, my younger sister, was more of a riddle. She was easy to love, but hard to understand, and from as early as twelve or thirteen, I remember feeling as though she was suffering inside --like she was burdened by some weight that she was too proud, too ashamed, or too frightened to share.
In every way but her eyes, Jen looked like me. The petite frame, the brown puffy nipples -and I guess, perhaps partly for that reason, I'd spared her from being a victim of my exploits.
It's not that I held no interest in fucking (or trying to fuck) someone that looked almost identical to myself, but more that I felt as though Jen deserved some higher respect, like to try to have sex with her would be to sink to my lowest moral point.
My brother Sean, on the other hand, fell well within the scope of my twisted moral compass. He was simply too hot, and my bond with him was too tight, and in the light of a future with no consequence, so much sexual curiosity arose from my relationship with him that Sean, my little brother, became a person I fucked a lot.
And today, with one sick exception, would be no different. He would come home, he would be coerced, and he would satisfy my twisted desire.
Lying on my back, listening to the drawl of some senseless infomercial, I subdued an ominous burp. Breakfast had not been good. I was beginning to feel it in my gut.
I checked the time. Sean would come home from his friend's house in forty seconds.
Even having lived through the same day a thousand times, I felt the butterflies in my stomach --the kind that would come whenever I would try something new.
Just then I heard 90's whir of Sean's Chevy --his pride and joy- pull up into the drive. I took a deep breath as my stomach rumbled with increasing objection and stood up, going over my plan in my mind one last time...
I heard the scrape of his key in the latch and watched Sean walk through the door. Quickly I turned my expression to one of discomfort and concern.
"What's wrong?" Sean asked, seeing me in standing there. My acting was clearly a success. He gave me a strange frown as he placed his keys on the side table and moved from the entrance into the living room.
"I don't know," I said, as I reached behind and rubbed absently one of my butt cheeks through my tight denim jeans. "I feel like I have a mark, or a scratch on my leg," I said to him, "but I can't see it in the mirror."
Sean just sort of looked at me, neither greatly concerned nor vaguely uncomfortable. But before he could tell me it was probably nothing, I countered him.
"It hurts..." I said, trying to look worried. "Can you look and tell me if you see anything."
I looked for the pause in his breathing --just the lightest hesitation. If I had blinked, I would have missed it. But I had seen it many times before, his excitement betraying him. I knew to look for it. It made me wet.
"Yeah, OK," replied Sean, folding his arms and furrowing his brow. He would help his sister out, with a noble determination to remember who she was.
Without a word I undid my fly, still looking quite worried, and dug my thumbs beneath the denim waistline and my skin. Then I turned and, finally able to smile without being seen, pulled my pants --and my underwear- almost down to my knees and bent right over in front of my little brother.
Now, doing this in the living room is admittedly strange, but between the television and the kitchen there was a large mirror on the wall, and from where I stood right then I was able to plainly see Sean's reaction as I bent over and showed him my tiny little vagina, my firm round little butt cheeks, and my tight puckered butthole.
And the look on his face was priceless. His eyes went almost completely round, his mouth fell open, and he allowed himself a full second of staring before his brain caught up and he yelled loudly at me, covering his eyes.
"Hey! What the fuck are you doing?" he demanded. I straightened and looked around at him, confusion on my face.
"What?" I asked. But then looked down at the panties by my waist. "Oh my God!" I gasped dramatically, pulling both my panties and jeans back up. "I'm so sorry!"
"Man," breathed Sean, his face red with embarrassment. I could tell how the glimpse had affected him. But I did not want to give him time to recover.
"I'm sorry!" I repeated.
"What the hell Em!?"
"I'm sorry!!!" I said louder, trying to look embarrassed. "But," I continued quickly. "Did you see anything on my cheek?"
"What?" asked Sean, still flustered. "No. No --I don't think so. Why?"
"Are you sure?" I asked, matching his tone, trying to sound like my desperation mattered more than his discomfort. I looked at him, pleadingly. "Can you just take one more look?"