This is a rather embarrassing story to tell, but also an exciting one, about a night I will never forget. It all started at dinner with my family-my mother, father, and my brother, Pete. I was planning to meet up with some friends for a party later and was feeling pretty good about my prospects. I was nineteen at the time, buxom, with silky dark hair that reached down to the middle of my back. In my high school years, I was rather plain, but when I went away to college, and put on the "freshman fifteen," I filled out in exactly the right places-hips, breasts, lips. It was like I was swollen with sexuality. And yeah, the guys noticed. I went from no dates to fairly persistent propositions in my first six months of college. By the end of the year, I had lost my virginity, and then some.
It was summer now, though, and I was back at home with my pervy eighteen-year-old brother and my boring parents. I could not wait to get back out there.
We were having meatloaf. And peas. Not my ideal dinner, but I was a healthy eater. I mean, once I figured out the relationship between my appetite and my sexual appetite. More food meant bigger tits, bigger tits meant more eyes on them, more eyes on them meant more dicks. I was only an incoming sophomore, but I'm pretty good at math.
Suddenly I felt something touch my ankle and I reflexively jerked my leg away. I looked over at my brother. That little twerp was smiling, his eyes squinting behind his Harry Potter-style round glasses. I gave him a look and mouthed stop it. A minute later, he did it again. This time, knowing what was touching my ankle, I didn't move as reflexively, but shifted my legs out of reach. I watched as my brother slowly slid down in his chair, reaching out with his foot. I grabbed a handful of peas and flung them at his disappearing head.
"Jana!" My parents, who had been too absorbed in their own conversation to notice what a pest their son was being, had glanced over just in time to witness the legume launch.
"Pete keeps touching my ankle!" I realized as I was saying it that I sounded pathetic. "On purpose!" I added, not helping my case.
Now my father was on alert, eager to prove that he was the law. Short man's syndrome. He wasn't that short-five foot eight-but still seemed to have a bit of a complex about it and tried to stay fit at least, to keep some dimension of imposition.
"That's it!" He paused, knowing that he had to follow through with some sort of action. "No party."
"What?! That's not fair! What about him?"
My father smiled. "No party for him, either."
"Arrrrggh!" I stomped off to my room, my father still smiling at his joke and my brother smiling along with him while picking buttered peas out of his hair and eating them. Weirdo.
I was angry, but all was not lost. If anything, my tantrum ensured that no one would seek me out for the rest of the night, and that was to my advantage. No one (except that creep Pete) was spoiling for a fight. I went to my room, slammed my door, and took a deep breath. I was going to that party.
I spent some time on Instagram, flipped through some magazines, and waited for Pete and my parents to get ready for bed. When it was time, I quietly changed into a black cocktail dress I'd bought while on spring break that highlighted my bosom, put on some lipstick and eyeliner, and made my plan for escape. I'd done it before, in high school, under similar circumstances and no one had ever found out.
In the shared family bathroom, there was a small window, and underneath that window a shed, and from there I could climb into the backyard and be off, with no one the wiser. Yeah, I could try the front door, too, but with everyone so recently in bed, there was a risk they would still be awake and hear me creaking around downstairs. The window was the better option.
I opened the door from my room into the hall. My parents' bedroom door was closed. I could hear the television in there, so they were done for the night. They'd watch a few shows and fall asleep. I don't think they've had sex in years, though I'd occasionally caught one or the other in a compromising position suggesting that at least liked to rub one out in peace every once in a while.
Pete's door was closed, too, but God knows what he was doing in there. I didn't even want to think about it. I stepped out into the hallway and closed my bedroom door behind me. If anyone came into the hallway during the night to use the bathroom, they'd see my door closed and assume I was still in there, fuming in my dreams. I went down the hall, just past my parents' room, to the bathroom. I'd have to leave the door open and be very quiet. If someone found the door closed and the bathroom unoccupied, that would raise questions. I opened the small window, hinged to the side, stepped up onto the toilet, and tossed my clutch out onto the shed roof, where it landed with a muted thud.
I followed it, arms and head out first, pulling myself through, bosom next, waist, and hips. And hips. AND HIPS. I was stuck. This wasn't going to work. I was paying the price for that freshman fifteen now. It made me sexy, but unstealthy. A cat burglar I was not. I wiggled my legs now, trying to build up momentum for the reverse, feeling for the toilet seat so I could get some leverage on my position. No good. I wasn't going forward, and I wasn't going backward, either. I couldn't imagine how I'd look if someone saw me from the outside, my torso, shoulders, arms, neck, and head emerging from a window whose small frame was hidden by my cocktail dress, which had ridden up a bit during my attempt to go in reverse. And from the inside? Ass and legs and ... I just realized that, expecting to get laid, I hadn't even worn panties.
I'd never taken the time to appreciate the neighborhood at night. The sights, the sounds, the cool night air on my face and bare arms. Once I got my mind off of the pain and awkwardness of my position in the window, and ignoring the occasional buzz of my cell phone vibrating in my clutch against the shed roof, a good eighteen inches out of reach, there was a lot to take in.
Mainly, it was the night sky-even though I had started in the darkened bathroom when I first climbed out, my eyes adjusted even further and smaller and dimmer stars gradually emerged, like college ladies from bathroom windows, from the blackness. Being summer, there were the sounds of crickets and cicadas, which I'd never before bothered to distinguish. A few nocturnal birds-an owl, maybe. I saw a cat wander down the alley. It paused, briefly, looking up at me, trying to process whether this new sight was a threat. I had to admit, at this point, that the incident would undoubtedly someday make a good story, though I was curious about how it would end.
Suddenly, my ruminations were interrupted by rays of light from the top corners of the window-someone had turned on the bathroom light. And it didn't take long to discover who it was because a split second later, I heard the croaky voice of my brother, Pete-"What the fuck?! ..."
"Pete ... Pete ..." I whispered desperately over my shoulder. "Pull me back in!" I was mortified, not only by the sight I knew I was presenting my brother, but also by the fact that had to ask him for help. "Oh, God, Pete, please help me ..."
Pete didn't reply, but I thought I heard him chuckling. I waved my legs around, attempting to signal the silent Pete. I knew, though, that by doing so, I was only exposing myself further to him-my vulva like the moon, my labia majora waving at him with the rhythm of my gyrating legs. Suddenly mortified, I stopped moving and let my lower half slump. "Pete? Are you there?"
Suddenly I felt something on my legs, my rear-droplets, like it was raining, then more force, a jet of warm water tracing its way up my right thigh. That motherfucker was pissing on me. That motherfucker! That piece of shit little creep. "Pete!" I hissed, weighing the incense of my anger against the fear of what would happen if my parents awoke. Somehow, I was still convinced that I could salvage this night. "Pete! Please stop, god damnit!" I resumed waving my legs, trying in vain to dodge the stream of my brother's urine.
Then he stopped. It was just that he was out, though, not that he'd taken pity on me. Nature had simply run is course. As much as I wanted out of this window, now I just prayed that my brother would go back to his room and to sleep. I was humiliated, first being stuck in the window like this, now having been pissed on by my shitty brother. Nothing, I thought, could make this night worse.
I could feel the warm liquid dripping from my toes, but the light was still on. Pete must be there. Doing what? I took a wild swing with my right leg, imagining where he might be and trying to catch him off guard to deliver some small amount of retribution for this humiliation. My leg hit nothing. I tried my left leg. Nothing. I could hear him in there, though, maybe by the sink. What was he doing? Looking for something in a drawer? I just hoped that he hadn't gotten his phone.
A sudden whirr, a mechanical whine. Hair dryer? Hair dryer. What the fuck now? Then I felt it on me, the heat, drying my skin where he'd peed, but not exactly a comforting heat. The air from a hair dryer can be discomfiting, especially in the absence of hair as an insulator. It wasn't quite as bad as candle wax-the heat sudden, then dimming-this wasn't as intense, but it was also sustained. And controlled. I could feel the jet of air moving past my right knee, making its way up the side of my thigh. I tried to move my leg away, but the intense heat stayed on me, trapping me.
Now it was moving again, this time laterally around my leg to the inside of my knee, then up my thigh from that angle. My skin was even more sensitive there, the heat more personal. I waited for him to finish, to get bored, to leave me alone, or, better, to help me out of this window and never bring this up again. But he wasn't going anywhere. Pete was taking his time. My brother, my diabolical little brother. My thighs were getting scorched, but not burned. Reflexively, I kicked again, but he caught my ankle, held it to his hip, and continued, with his other hand, to advance with the hair dryer. I tried kicking him with my other leg, but he easily deflected with his knee without, for a second, relieving me from his advances.
I could feel the air now reflected off my thigh up across my vulva. He was getting close now. What was he looking at while he did this? Was he concentrating on the few square inches of flesh directly in front of his instrument, or was he distracting by the clean-shaven sight of his helpless sister? I squirmed. He held fast. As much as I tried to focus on the effects of the immediate heat on my inside upper thigh, I was now anticipating what was coming next. I was getting hot, but not just from the hair dryer. I tried to get away by moving forward, out the window, even though I knew this was futile. I pulled my mons up against the window sill, but when that did nothing to free me, I relaxed back. Then I tried again as the heat was now at the junction between my thigh and my pubic mound. I was frantic now, thrusting my thighs and hips, humping the window frame, trying to catch my clit on the edge of the window frame, to find some sort of relief in friction.
