My Little Sister's Visit
Chapter 1: Early Arrival
This story takes place in the summer of 1970, a year or so before I met Jean.
There are no cell phones, no personal computers, and no internet.
No one under 18 has sex.
#
I had almost escaped from my sweltering apartment when the phone rang. I was eager to get to college town for Friday night happy hour in an air-conditioned bar. God knows I'd earned a pitcher of cold beer. It had been a long week in the lab. I think it's a conspiracy that everyone piles on the work before you take a vacation. I was looking forward to my little sister's visit next week. Thanks to a nasty argument with my Dad about the Vietnam War, I hadn't been home in four years to see either my parents or my sweet little tomboy sister.
Thinking the call might be from a friend wanting to join me prowling for women, I answered the phone.
"Hello."
"Steve, I wanted to let you know we are finally boarding the flight to Syracuse. We were delayed in Chicago for hours by weather. I was never so terrified in my life when we landed in the middle of a thunderstorm. I'll see you in three hours."
"Megan, I thought you were coming Sunday."
"Steve, I sent you a letter explaining my concern about arriving only two days before my interview. I don't want to be jet-lagged while I'm trying to impress the Cornell admission's people."
"Ok. I'll see you at the gate."
"Love you."
Before I could say I loved her too, she hung up. Crap! I'd planned on cleaning up the place over the weekend. I'd also arranged to borrow a mattress from a friend, but he needed it for the weekend. Hell, I didn't even have a place for my little sister to sleep. My immediate problem was borrowing a car that could make it to Syracuse. The chance of my old Austin-Healey making it sixty miles to the airport and back was slim to none.
Luckily, my roommate hadn't gone out yet, so I knocked on the door to his room. When he opened the door, I was once again struck by the differences between us. We were both graduate students, but I struggled to make ends meet on my research stipend while finishing my thesis. Paul was a brilliant graduate student in biochemistry and had stayed at Cornell to perform research with a world-renowned professor. Everything came easy to my handsome roommate. He came from an old Boston blue blood family, and his father was the wealthy president of a pharmaceutical company. His mother was on the board of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts and numerous charities. My Dad had grown up on a farm. My mom worked in a yardage store. They had struggled to send me to college on a full scholarship.
Paul said he was getting ready to go out to an alumni party at his old fraternity down the street. From the way he was dressed, it was apparent he expected to make a conquest tonight. My roommate went through beautiful women like a person with allergies goes through facial tissues. The thought of him around my little tomboy sister made me nervous enough to lie.
He said, "What's up, Steve? You look like you're planning on hitting the bars in college town, hoping to find a woman. You should know that's a low percentage game in the summer."
I laughed at his playful gibe and lied to his face. "Do you remember my mentioning an old girlfriend from my hometown coming out for a college interview?"
Paul thought for a moment and then smiled. "You mumbled something about maybe having a guest a couple of weeks ago. I remember saying it was fine with me as long as she doesn't keep me from using the bathroom when I need it."
"Well, this is kind of awkward. I got the date wrong. My friend is arriving in Syracuse in a couple of hours. Is there any way I could borrow your car to pick her up? I'd owe you big time."
Paul's face slowly broke into a smug grin. "Well, it's possible, but you'll have to earn it. How about you do all the cleaning for a month, starting with that sink full of dishes?"
My wealthy roommate had me over a barrel, and he knew it. He was used to a houseful of servants cleaning up after him, and as a result, he was a slob. The sink full of dishes and the disarray in the apartment was mainly his mess. I'd planned on cleaning up before my sister arrived anyway, but a month as Paul's servant was asking a lot.
I swallowed my pride. "Sounds fair."
Paul tossed me the keys and headed for the door. He paused and grinned.
"Be sure to fill up the tank when you get back."
I had at least an hour before I needed to leave if I wanted to arrive thirty minutes early. I hastily cleaned the bathroom and living room before tackling the dishes. Before leaving, the last thing I did was drag my sleeping bag and a yoga pad out of the closet. The thin cushion wasn't thick enough to be comfortable on the hardwood floor, but it was the best I could do. I was willing to suffer so my little sister could have my bed.
I checked the mailbox on my way out and found the letter from my sister, which only arrived this afternoon. The letter confirmed she would be coming today. Megan always waited until the last minute, and the late letter was another glaring example. If she'd sent it airmail, I would have gotten it days ago and would have had time to prepare. If she'd spent the extra dime, I wouldn't be Paul's slave for a month. Now, the letter told me nothing I didn't already know.
Driving Paul's red 1969 BMW 2800CS coupe was a dream. The engine purred like a kitten, and the luxury car took corners like it was on rails. I didn't want to think about how many girls had lost their virginity on the plush leather seats.
The hour-long trip gave me plenty of time to think about my little sister. I was the youngest of three boys until Megan was born eight years after me. My oldest brother, Scott, said she was an accident since my parents were in their forties and all of us had been born two years apart. However, we all quickly fell in love with our precious baby sister. With three brothers, it was natural that she grew up a tomboy. While she was a child, she loved to rough house with us. As her youngest brother, I often got the welcome task of being her babysitter. I became her protector and her favorite brother.
I thought about the last time I had seen my little sister. It had been the summer after my first year of graduate school at Cornell. Protests against the war in Vietnam had become commonplace on college campuses in 1966, and after reading about the history of the conflict, I joined the opposition.
My Dad had fought the Nazis at the Battle of the Bulge and was a true patriot. He refused to believe his government would lie to him. I'll give him credit. He listened for a few minutes while I pointed out that the South Vietnamese government we supported consisted of traitors who had collaborated with the Japanese occupiers in WWII. The South Vietnamese citizens either hated the government or wanted to be left alone.
On the other hand, Ho Chi Min had fought against the Japanese with the aid of American advisors. I had barely gotten started on my tirade when he stormed out of the room. I cut my visit short and returned to Cornell. I hadn't gone back since, and it was the last time I saw my little sister, who was fourteen years old at the time. Even though I knew she was now eighteen, I still pictured her as the skinny tomboy she had been when I saw her last.
I was sorry the trip was half over when I pulled into the airport parking lot. Someday, I would own a new sports car as sweet as my roommates. I was a good forty minutes early when I strolled into the terminal. When I checked the arrival information, I was annoyed to see that my sister's flight had been delayed by an hour and a half. It was going to be a late night.
The sun was close to setting when my sister's flight landed. It had been one of a string of hot, muggy days in Central New York, and the gathering clouds promised thunderstorms and hopefully some temporary relief from the oppressive heat. Our childhood in Southern California had made us accustomed to hot, dry summer days. I wondered what my sister would make of her first exposure to heat combined with high humidity.
In 1970, Syracuse was a small regional airport served by Mohawk Airlines. The small terminal didn't have jetways, and passengers departed from the medium-sized turboprops using mobile stairways. I eagerly watched for my little tomboy sister as people buffeted by the gusty wind carefully descended the steep stairs. There was a delay as a pair of burly airline personnel helped a disabled soldier in uniform down the stairs to a waiting wheelchair.
That was when I saw a goddess exit the plane and stand swaying at the top of the stairs. The gorgeous young woman was clutching the railing as one hot, humid gust after another threatened to blow her away. She had long, athletic legs topped by a red plaid miniskirt that swirled around the top of her thighs. I wasn't the only man mesmerized by her breathtaking legs and the frequent flashes of her lacy white panties. The men unloading the baggage paused to stare at the lovely sight. The attendants aiding the wounded warrior also slowed their descent to a crawl as they fixed their gaze on the gorgeous woman. The young soldier had a massive grin on his face.
I'm a leg man, and my gaze had been locked on the most beautiful pair I had ever seen. It was a couple of minutes before I checked out the rest of her. She was wearing a white crop top that left several inches of firm, well-tanned abdomen exposed. The loose silky top billowed around large generous breasts. The deep V-neck revealed her voluptuous cleavage. If she hadn't been wearing a red daypack, the wind gusts would have blown her top up to her trim neck and wholly expose her sexy push-up bra. Instead, we were treated to occasional glimpses of the sheer lacy bra.
I noticed she was wearing high-heel platform wedges that showed her painted toenails. The bright red color of her toenails, her pleated miniskirt, her daypack, and her fingernails matched. The gorgeous young woman had long golden curls swirling around her oval face that concealed her features. A strong gust blew her hair aside and confirmed that her lipstick was the same shade of rich red. Her dark eyebrows betrayed the fact her hair color came from a bottle. She was a gorgeous example of a Southern California surfer girl.
I spend a few seconds trying to get a look at her face. She looked familiar, but my glimpses of her face were too brief to place her. Had I seen her in a movie? It didn't make sense. What would a movie star be doing in upstate New York?
