Alright, so I decided it was unfair to end this series on a cliffhanger. If you read this and want more, say something.
-K
*
"Come on, Don, get up. We're going to the lake."
It was the morning after the storm. Donovan lay on his stomach with his face half-buried in his pillow. I gave his body a shove, but my brother was built like a brick shithouse. There was just no give. I shook him harder. A hand shot out and grabbed my ass.
"Naw," grunted Donovan lazily. "Wanna fuck you first."
Donovan still smelled like sex. His shirt had ridden up, exposing a wedge of his backside, and the way he squeezed my ass had my dick pushing up against the crotch of my jeans in no time. I wanted to jump him bad. But it was too risky.
"You want Ashley to catch us?" I reminded him.
Donovan swore and rolled over. Sitting up, he yawned and scratched an armpit. Then he pulled me down and French-kissed me.
* * *
Last night had been a close call. My room was just down the hall from my brother's, so between when Ashley figured out my room was empty and when she'd flung open Don's door I had just seconds to scuttle beneath the bed. Lying on the floor too scared to even breathe, all I could think of was Don's cum cooling on my skin and on the bed. Thank God the room was dark.
As my sister stood in the doorway I could just make out the outline of her shapely legs. At twenty-one and the youngest of the family, Ashley was the kind of girl that attracted boys like flies to dead meat. She looked different enough from everyone else in the family that once, when she'd been little, she'd asked if she'd been adopted. Dad had replied dryly, "Yes dear. But they gave you back."
On the night she'd almost caught us she was a walking disaster. The rainwater dripping off her and pooling on Don's hardwood floor did nothing to alleviate the smelled of booze, cigarettes, and cheap perfume. But Donovan's priority was always family. It didn't matter that she smelled or that he was buck naked. He went to her straight away and got her out of her clothes and beneath a warm towel, mumbling reassuring words all the while. Only when he was satisfied that she was safe and dry did he start getting dressed. It took a while, but amidst her chattering teeth and broken sobs, we learned that she'd hitchhiked into town and that she was three months pregnant.
"Shit, Ashley," Donovan swore softly. Sitting together on the bed, I could see my brother's feet planted on the hardwood floor while Ashley's dangled twitchily beside him.
"Who's the father?" he asked.
"Gone!" she sobbed.
A confusing story ensued. At first, Ashley seemed to imply that she'd been raped, but when Don threatened violence on the perpetrator she backpedalled, saying instead she'd been involved in some kind of "misunderstanding". She'd been "sleeping" (read: wasted) at a wild house party. One of the other girls at the party had been intoxicated, and had gotten jealous about something, which then resulted in them fighting. The other girl had wrestled her to the ground ... and that was how she'd become pregnant.
This all left Don and I scratching our heads. I had half a mind to ask Ashley what fucking a transvestite felt like because nothing in her story made sense.
Eventually Don asked, "So what you going to do now?"
"I don't know," she mumbled.
"You have to tell Mum and Dad, Ashley."
Seemingly out of the blue, she asked, "Do you remember when Darren told Dad he was gay?" Without waiting for Don's response, she leapt into a rambling story, the grist of which was, "Dad started saying those awful things, his fucking sarcastic jokes. But then you came up and put your arms around Darren and you said, 'Nobody talks to my brother that way, you fucking got that Dad?' You said it really quiet, but it was like you were total different person." She ended it by sniffling, "No one's ever stood up for me like that."
"Aww, Ashley. You know I'd do the same for you. I won't let Dad push you around," he said earnestly.
"Why?" she asked in a voice that sounded broken and vulnerable.
"'Cause you're my sister," was his gruff reply.
For me, the exchange was raising red flags all over the place. Ashley had my dumb brother wrapped around her fingers and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. What was it that JC used to call her? He'd dated her once...
"Would you help me with my baby?" she pleaded.
"What d'you need?" offered Donovan immediately.
"Money."
Ah... that's right; JC called her PMS, short for Poor Manipulative Slut.
"How much?" asked Donovan.
"Just a few th—" she began, but then stopped, distracted. "Why's your bed wet?" she asked, her tone curious.
I heard Ashley inhale. I imagined her sniffing her fingers, realization dawning on her.
Leaping off the bed as if she'd been scalded by hot water, she gasped, "Please tell me this isn't what I think it is." Suddenly, she didn't sound vulnerable at all.
Donovan just chuckled and shifted his weight on the bed, making it creak.
"Oh my God," she cried in outrage. "You were jacking...? I've fucking got... OH... MY... GOD! Ew Ew Ew EW!!!"
Shrieking, she ran out the room, slamming his door behind her. I breathed a sigh of relief as my brother started laughing, a deep rumble that echoed the receding thunder.
* * *
After the tricky business of getting Donovan out the door without being fucked, we drove about fifteen minutes out of town before pulling over. With the path to the lake overgrown and still wet from the storm, I had to do a fair bit of bushwhacking, which in a way was a good thing since it meant it wasn't likely we'd be disturbed. Still, it was slow going. The bulky canvas and easel my brother was carrying for me kept getting caught in the underbrush.
"So how'd you find this place?" asked Don, trudging up a hill behind me.
