The first in a series...
My sister and I had had a zealous relationship. When we were younger, we were either joined by the hip, or by clenched hands around the throats. With a five year age difference, she was able to have her own friends, and I mine, but she was my big sister, my role model, and I was her little brother. But, when I got in her way, or one of us had a moment of "goodness" and would nark on the other... things got broken: furniture, windows, faces, toys. Later on in life she described me as fearless in those days, playfully obedient, and an asshole.
She ran away a lot; my mother blamed her problems, her moods and insecurities, on my sister, and my father, who was either playful and borderless, or distant and authoritarian, believed my mother. One time, she didn't come back, and no one ever heard from her.
Here I was on my eighteenth birthday, with my boss, Jeremy, half a bottle of bourbon in my veins, one of the many gift cigars in my mouth, as the light shone down on the next act in a strip club just three towns from home: my sister, Sarah.
She sat in a chair backwards wearing a black leotard, pink tights with a few holes that cut off mid calf contrasting with her tan skin, pointe shoes, her cherry auburn hair slicked back into a fabulously tight bun. Bad Brooks started playing "The After Party" over the sound system.
She lifted off the chairs and onto her toes, into a set of impressive positions she learned from my mother the dance teacher. Then flowed into a pirouette that slowed to a stop. Moving her hips to the music she pulled her leotard across her ass, letting us see, then covering again. She turned and pulled it up into her crotch, then more dance moves, dropping the shoulders and tugging at them, pulling the black spandex against her tits, she worked her assets. The elastic holding her hair came out and she shook her hair out and whipped it back. The leotard, in tugs and pulls, worked its way up and down, each time, giving a little more down, till her perfect tits glistened with light sheen of sweat and glitter in the light, then her stomach, until she turned around on her toes, bent over, and slowly wiggled the leotard all the way down then stepped out of it. She turned back around playfully shy, then started fingering a hole in her hosiery that just left enough to the imagination. She wasn't shaved. With a fluid motion she pressed her thighs together and bent her knees as she tore the hole she was playing with, all the way up and down that leg... just so perfectly. She kept her pussy covered and pulled at the remaining hosiery, turning around and wiggling it up and down and down and up the remaining leg. Finally, she brought her leg up all the way up to her head, and slowly pushed it off with fantastic flourish as the song ended.
To Jeremy's loud insistence that it was my birthday, she flung it at me. It smelled of musk, and sweet, and the earthy, fresh, sweet scent that has always been Sarah. She blew me a kiss as I took her in. A full, athletic body; not a twig, but toned, solid legs, with an ample ass and wonderful hips, a strong, flat stomach, perfect posture, and plump tits, C's maybe, that hung just right on her chest. And my sister's face, perfectly proportioned, soft but strong features, button nose, high cheek bones, wonderful jawline; little brown freckles and green eyes.
I had grown a bit in the last years. I had packed on a bit of height, and some sinewy muscle apprenticing at a wood craftsman. I hadn't shaved in a month since high school let out the last time for me. She couldn't have recognized me. But she kept staring at me, her expression, slowly trying to figure me out... I took out a fifty dollar bill, stepped slightly into better light setting it on the stage, and sat back in the dark lounging seat. Her face completely froze, and dropped for a moment, before slowly turning into a grin. She blew me a kiss, and walked off stage with flourish.
I was... disappointed to find her here, and buzzing with questions of how she was, what she had been doing these past years. I was elated to find her though, and I was hard as a steel rod at her number.
Wow...
After a glance around the place, I took out my flask and took a few swigs, relit the cigar that I had ignored the entire time Sarah was on stage.
A new number came on stage with a loud song, but my mind was understandably elsewhere. Maybe not understandably on the image of her blowing me a kiss, in nothing but pointe shoes...
In the middle of a third number, Jeremy tapped my shoulder fervently, his face ogling my sister coming our way in white lace bra and g string, garters and silk stockings, high heels, hair over one shoulder. "Hey Birthday Boy..."
