I probably knew from the time I picked up my little sister at the airport that trouble was brewing. I was twenty-five and she was a nubile twenty-one, freshly graduated from college with a degree in women's studies. I was a struggling artist and, yes, I still lived at home with mom and dad. It was Saturday and they wouldn't be home from vacation until Wednesday. I didn't know Cara's plans in terms of how long she thought she'd be staying with us.
She started in on me almost as soon as we got into the SUV. First, she interrogated me on why I was still living at home (because I had no money). Then, she quizzed me on my love life (no, I didn't have a girlfriend and no, I hadn't turned gay). Then, she really went off the deep end.
"Do you know what really burns me up?" she asked.
I stared out the windows and got distracted by two women in tank tops and short shorts walking their Pomeranian.
"That," she said.
"What?" I asked.
"Those women. They're begging to be treated as sex objects. How does that make me seem?"
I looked over at Cara for a moment. She was in her usual baggy tee-shirt and men's jeans. Her short hair was uncombed and her face unmade. She wasn't a lesbian as far as I knew, but she did dress like a boy.
"I didn't notice," I said.
She snorted. "Your eyes were practically hanging out of their sockets. You definitely noticed."
I was silent. The light turned green and we were soon far away from the offending ladies. Cara crossed her arms and stuck her lower lip out.
"How am I supposed to have sex with anyone when all men want is superficial looks?"
I seriously almost said,
I'm sure your pussy looks as sexy as anyone's
, but I was certain she'd take that the wrong way. Actually, coming from her brother, it was hard to see how she could possibly have taken that the right way. So, I just kept my mouth shut.
"Would you have sex with me?" she asked.
A massive adrenaline dump from the base of my neck flooded my scalp and spine. Was my sister seriously asking me to have sex with her? I wondered if I was hallucinating all of a sudden. I stared at her.
"Car. Car!" she yelled, pointing out the windshield.
I turned and slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid hitting a left-turner who had come to a stop but didn't bother signaling. The ABS came on and everything.
"Jeez, David," she said. "Are you trying to get us killed?"
"Sorry," I said.
The other car turned and we continued on our way. We were about five minutes out from home.
"Well, would you?" Cara asked.
"Would I what?" I asked.
"Have sex with me?"
"Cara, I'm your brother. I know we fooled around sometimes, but we were little, and it didn't matter."
She stared at me. "What are you talking about?" she asked.
I shook my head. "We can't have sex."
She guffawed. "God, David. Seriously? I wasn't asking you to have sex. I was asking you, from a man's perspective, would you have sex with me if you met me somewhere?"
"Uh . . ."
My mind raced. There really wasn't any answer I could give that wouldn't get me in trouble. If I said yes, I was a pervert. If I said no, I'd wreck her self-esteem.
"Maybe," I said.
"What the hell does that mean?" she asked.
"It means, I guess it would depend on the situation," I said.
"That's a weasel's answer," she said.
I sighed.
* * *
That evening, we went to a bar and grill down the road for dinner because we were both too lazy to cook. They were full, so we showed them our IDs, sat at the bar, and had pub food with a shit ton of alcohol on the side. I had two beers and a whiskey in a little over an hour and Cara had two wine coolers and a shot of tequila. I didn't know why we were drinking so heavily. I guessed it was only because we could, now that she was legal.
Cara freaked out when I said I'd drive us home, so we walked the two miles back to the house. I was pretty sober by the time we got home. Cara was still blasted. She tripped over a crack in the sidewalk in front of our house but fortunately I caught her before she fell. She sagged against me and laughed; her hot breath smelled like alcohol. The back of her tee-shirt was smooth and I realized she wasn't wearing a bra. The realization went right to my groin, in spite of the fact she was my sister and dressed like a man.
"David, I can't walk any more. Carry me," she said.
"Dude," I said. "We're right in front of our house. It's, like, twenty feet away."
She stayed in my arms and stared up at me, an odd expression on her face.
"What?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Do you think of me as a dude?"
I had no idea what to say to that. I'd just been thinking of her tits a moment ago, but, in general, yeah, I thought of her as one of the guys.
I shrugged. "I guess so."
She stood up straight and walked away from me. I followed her into the house. Mom and dad's liquor cabinet was locked, but we both knew where the keys were so it was pointless. I went for the vodka, Cara went for the Irish cream liqueur. We did a couple of shots and picked a movie, some shoot-em-upper that had come out earlier that year.
Cara did two more shots, then slid off of the couch into a puddle on the floor, laughing like crazy. I picked her up and pulled her back onto the couch and she snuggled up against me. That made me feel weird. I didn't say anything, though, until she rested her hand on my crotch. I jumped up and paused the movie.
"Cara, what are you doing?"
She giggled. "What are you doing?"
I stared at her. I didn't imagine it. She definitely put her hand on my cock. I shook my head and sat back down, but one seat away from her. I restarted the movie.
A minute later, she said, "David."
I was almost afraid to turn and look at her. When I did, I saw she was crying. I felt like an ass. I paused the movie again.
"Aw, Cara. Don't cry. What's wrong?"
She scooted over to me and straddled my lap. I froze solid with my hands up, as if I were under arrest. She wrapped her arms around my torso, rested her head against my chest, and cried. Slowly, I lowered my arms and patted her back chastely. It was hard not to think of her pussy against my cock, even though multiple layers of thick clothing were in the way.
"It's okay, Cara," I said. "Why are you crying?"
"Guys don't like me," she blubbered.
"Come on," I said. "I'm sure they do. You've got to give us a chance."
She hung her head back and looked up at me. "Can you help me?"
I guessed that depended on what she wanted me to do. "I don't know," I said.
"Dress me up like a whore," she said.
I swallowed heavily. "What?"
"Teach me how to look like someone you'd want to fuck," she said.
"How?" I asked.
She stood up and extended her hand. "Come with me."
I hesitated, but then took her hand. "Where are we going?"
She dragged me to mom and dad's suite. She threw open the doors to mom's half of the closet.
"Dress me," she said. "Make me sexy."
This was freaking me out. I was supposed to dress my sister up in my mom's clothes so I wanted to fuck her? The whole thing just sounded wrong. But . . . God help me, part of me was a little intrigued.
She pulled her baggy tee-shirt off over her head, revealing her naked breasts. My eyes widened, then I squeezed them shut and whirled so my back was to her.
"Jesus, Cara."
"Look at me," she said. "How are you going to dress me up if you can't look at me?"
"I really don't think we should be doing this," I said.
"David, I'm asking for your help. I need you to help me be sexy."
Slowly, I turned around. Her hands were under her breasts, holding them up so they pointed directly at me. She swayed a little on her feet, reminding me she was drunk as shit.
"You need underwear," I said. "Like, a bra."
She stalked over to mom's dresser and opened the drawers until she found bras. "Here," she said. "Which one?"
I moved as if I was underwater. I was lightheaded and seemed to float over to the dresser to stand beside her. I looked into the drawer. Mom had her bras separated out in little cubbies. I pointed to a black lace one. "Like, that one," I said.
She took the bra out and slid it over her arms. It cupped her breasts and covered them completely. She turned her back to me. "Hook me up," she said.
I stared at the scene in front of me: my sister in my mom's bra, asking me to touch her. I felt like I'd entered a twilight zone, as if this couldn't possibly be reality. I reached out and took the bra straps in my hands, then hooked them together in the middle of her back. She turned around.
"Well?" she asked. "What do you think?"
I was as hard as a rock, but there was no way I was going to tell her that -- as if it wasn't obvious. Still, the bra had full coverage cups, whereas I wanted to see the tops of her tits, and maybe a little nipple, too. I looked into the bra drawer again and thumbed the other offerings. I found a whore-red bra that looked like it would only go about halfway up her mounds. I pulled it out. My sister stared at it.
"Seriously?" she asked.
"Seriously," I said.
 
                             
                         
                         
                         
                         
                         
                                 
                                 
                                 
                                