"Petey, Petey, thank God you're home!" Dana almost peeled the wallpaper with her greeting, and all I saw coming at me when I came in the front door was a light, pink blur. She jumped up and locked her dancer's legs around my waist in a death grip, planting a dozen kisses on my face, ending with a long one directly on my lips that almost took my breath away. I dropped my bags and hugged her back partly in self defense, since she seemed set on welding her body to mine and I wanted her to loosen her grip a little bit. She responded and put her head on my shoulder, quivering. "I'm so scared. How's Mom and Dad?"
I took a deep breath. "Not good. They're still out of it, and the doctors aren't going to wake them up for a few days. That wreck was pretty bad. Stay away from semis when you're out driving, Whoopsie. Joanie says there's hope, but it'll be a long time before they're out of the woods."
She looked me in the face, her blue eyes tearing and kissed me again. "It's good you're home, Petey. I've needed my favorite big brother." A ding went off in the kitchen; Dana jumped off and sprinted back through the swinging door. "I've got to get these pies out of the oven," she yelled through the door, "You can have the study; Joanie's got the folks' room and the others will get the dormers."
I wandered down the hall and dumped my things in the study, where a full fledged day bed awaited me. It shared a bath with Dana's room next door. The old neighborhood in northeast Kansas City had seen better days, but it was undergoing a revival, and our old family home was something my parents hadn't wanted to give up. It had alarms, video monitors and locks, and as I walked in the study, my folks' dog Homer stood up to greet me. He was a large mixed breed animal, who was rather sedate except when strangers came near. I scratched his ears a bit and he padded off to another resting place.
Jet lag was starting to play with my mind, but it was only 7PM and I needed to stay awake for a while to get my body clock in sync with Central Time. I booted up my laptop but after half a minute I knew I couldn't stay awake checking my messages. It was cold as hell seven days before Christmas, so going for a walk wasn't a great idea, particularly after the transitions coming from a mild English winter, a freezing cab to the medical center, to another freezing cab to the old home. The kitchen would be warm, and my youngest sister would help me catch up on everything.
Delicious aromas greeted me when I swung open the door, and Dana was stirring a pot on the stove. "I've got a nice pot of chicken noodle soup ready, Mom's recipe. Want a bowl? Some nice fresh bread, too? I made it this afternoon." She was the only one the family that resembled Mom: barely five foot tall, wiry, with a head of short reddish brown hair. She was wearing a light pink leotard with white stockings and part of a brown wrap surrounded her right ankle. She wasn't limping, but she'd had many injuries common to serious dancers. Me and the rest of my siblings are all around six foot tall with dark hair like my Dad, although grey is starting to change that for us. Her energy had to come from recessive genes; none of the rest of us were that energetic in our youth.
"Dana, you can slow down a little now. I know you're wired from everything going on, and I'm glad you're getting a head start on the cooking, but you need to pace yourself. Looks like you're recovering from another injury."
"Twisted my ankle bad a couple of weeks ago. Therapy's going fine, but I'm not cleared to dance for a while. How was your trip? Are the football clubs doing well?"
"Fine, fine. The Premier league team's in the upper half of the table, and the other one is in the middle of theirs. Sales are great, front office running beautifully, players and managers are happy. I'm sick of splitting time across the Atlantic, but my boss wants someone American in their front office regularly, and I'm stuck. It's not enough he's got more money than the Donald and already owns American football, basketball and hockey teams, but has to own a couple of soccer teams in England as well. I can't afford to quit without another job in hand, and he keeps me so busy I don't have time to look. How's school?"
"School-like. I don't think it's changed much since your time. I do get to take most of my classes online, so I get more time to dance. Got my last paper done, so I'm free for a month."
"Dancing eight hours a day will usually limit your time."
She stuck her tongue out at me. "I like it, going to school, 'cause I know I can't dance forever, and don't want to wait until I get there to be ready to move on. Not sure how I'd make a living as an English major, but the reading is great." After giving me a puzzled look for a couple of seconds, she got a bowl and spoon out and ladled some chicken soup for me. "Be careful, it's hot," she muttered before getting a knife to carve the bread.
"Yes, mother. You are very wise for 19 going on 45."
"You should talk, my 40 year old brother." She flicked her fingers at my hair while pretending to inspect it. "I think I see a little more grey here than last time we met."
"Thanks for saying it's a little." Turning off a couple of burners, she got some storage containers from the cupboard and set them up to receive what she'd been cooking after it cooled. The package of freezer bags was out already. Three pies sat on at the far end of the table and were talking to me, as was the loaf of fresh bread on the cutting board. I sipped my soup, pausing for a bite of wonderful bread occasionally, and watched my baby sister make sure everything was all right. At times, she tried to do too much at once, and would stand in a dancer's pose, feet crossed in front of her, her head going back and forth quickly, as she tried to account for everything. Then she walked over to an open space, spread her legs a little, and started doing some bending exercises. It was another quirk of hers: when she was done with something and didn't know what else to do, she'd wander over and start stretching, almost in any room of the house, ignoring anything else going on.
Her little bubble butt got my attention, and I gazed at it in motion without eating for several moments before realizing it and getting back to business. I resumed eating my soup as she stretched her foot directly over her head, held it for several moments, then switched legs. She was always a ball of fire, ever since she learned to walk.
My junior year of college, when I was 20, I got to spend a year in Germany studying architecture, and when I came back, the house had another baby girl. It was then I discovered how little parents could tell their grown children, since I didn't know Mom was pregnant when I left. There's six kids in my family: my older brother Mark, my sister Joan and I (twins), and Julie arrived within four years, followed John three years later.
Almost from the start, we called Dana "Whoopsie" and that's almost the only name my folks and other brothers and sisters use. I spent the most time of them with her when I was home, playing with her by the hour and bringing my own kids to play with her after they arrived. My siblings generally saw her as an irritant, and she played that role to the hilt with them. With me it was different.
Dana's cell phone buzzed, and she stopped to look at a text. "Breanna's up to speed with what's going on. She wants to come but her Mom won't let her. Why does your ex have to be such a bitch?" I shrugged my shoulders. Another buzz, and she did a two thumb dance in reply. She looked up: "I told her you were here, and she and Brian are going to beg Sylvia to let them come sooner than scheduled. Did Joanie say if anybody else is coming shortly?"
I shook my head. "Mark won't leave his kingdom except in dire circumstances, like imminent death; Julie's in Hawaii and won't come back early, and John's visiting his kids in California. None of the other grandchildren will come on their own. Joanie will stay through it all. The only way we'll see everybody at the same time is..."
Dana threw herself into my lap and buried her head on my shoulder, crying softly. I held her and patted her shoulder, my jet lag momentarily gone. We sat for a long time until another ding, when she jumped up to pull a cake out of the oven. I helped myself to another bowl of soup, giving Dana a gentle touch in passing. I said, "We'll go down after I've caught up on my sleep and give Joanie a break tomorrow." She nodded, curling her lip, then went back to stretching.
After finishing my soup, my senses started to blur a little, so I just sat in my chair and watched the dancer go through her workout. I couldn't tell if she noticed me staring at her, but it didn't seem to affect her agenda. My inhibitions were lowered a little and she was starting to arouse me. At 9:45 I said, "to hell with it" and staggered down the hallway to the study, stripped to my skivvies, grabbed a blanket and laid down to sleep.
It was 5AM when I surfaced to find Dana sleeping next to me. Okay, no problem there, when I brought my kids to visit we'd all frequently curl up in a doggie pile in the middle of the floor for an afternoon nap. She was naked: again, nothing unusual; Dad always groused that since the age of 3 she not only slept naked but spent as much time out of her clothes as she could get away with. When she took up dance, she wore almost nothing but leotards except in formal situations. I slipped out from under the covers, went to the john, and emptied my bladder, returning to lay on my side facing her. She snugged up to spoon with me and I put my hand on her shoulder as I went back to sleep.
The next time I became conscious, it was full daylight. It always takes me a long time to come out of the fog, and I gave her shoulder a squeeze. Her hand came up to cover mine, and when I squeezed again, I realized there was a nipple under my palm: my hand wasn't on her shoulder. I became aware of my morning wood, and her hips wiggled, teasing and encouraging it. She moved a little bit, giving me space, then I felt my cock gripped by dancer's thighs of iron. Delicate fingers started tickling the head, and her other hand kept mine pinned to her breast.
For a moment, I resisted when I realized what was going on, but I was also enjoying it too much. As for my part, I was like a member of a recovery group: I remembered exactly the last date I had sex with someone. March 6, 2002, at 10 PM, after putting my kids to bed, with my wife. Sylvia always looked scared when we started and said, "Don't put that whole thing in me! I don't want to be ruined for life." I remember in college when I said 'Fuck you' to one of my buddies, he'd say, "You wouldn't like it, I'd just lay there." Well, Sylvia always just laid there, and if she had one orgasm during our dating and marriage, I don't remember it. I must have had two, at least, three counting that night.
After that I had been a corporate celibate for years, working too hard to socialize after my divorce, and wanted to break the string. Dating sites hadn't worked, and I even tried corresponding with foreign, mail order brides, which were also wastes of perfectly good cyberspace. The long drought was why after 24+ hours of trans-Atlantic travel, my sister's naked body turned up my thermostat enough to let my libido do the talking. She responded to another squeeze of her breast with a long sigh, and she opened her legs to stroke me in earnest. My other hand was pinned underneath me, so I contented myself with milking her delightful little boob. Her hair smelled wonderful, she must have used a lavender shampoo.
Like a flash, she turned, pushing me on my back and jumped up to straddle me. Her wild, blue eyes looked deep into mine with a determination that kept me as silent as she was. Wriggling her hips, she moved back and forth until she was on top of my member, grinding it with her crotch. My groin became very damp from her dew, and with a slight twitch of her hand darting between our legs I was inside her. The feel of my cock slowly sliding into her snatch was heaven.
