In the corner of a shadow-soaked bedroom, the pile of blankets stirs. From within, the long breaths of a sleeping 20 year-old can just barely be heard. The air is dead and silent.
Footsteps grow louder outside the door, which then swings open. A woman has already crossed half the span of the clothing-littered floor. Her nose crinkles a bit as she draws in the room's stale scent. She reaches the black-out curtains and tosses them open.
Daylight cuts through the gloom. She casts a long shadow, and places her hands on her hips to appreciate the view. Hazel eyes are caught in the light. The left iris is cut with a jagged green streak. Over this first month of summer, freckles have sprouted across her cheeks and shoulders.
When no groans of objection are heard, she looks down at the living glob of laziness that has taken residence in her apartment. There is a smug apathy in the way she holds herself that suggests she's grown accustomed to this very sight. Accustomed and impatient, too. With a tug, the protective comforter is ripped away. At last her brother is revealed, curled up fetal position. His softly shut eyes instantly clinch tight, and the whine she'd been waiting for finally elicits.
"Mooooommmmmm!" the word dies behind a pillow that he's smashed across his own face.
"I'm not your mother, idiot." Even though you sure are making me act like one, she thinks. "Get dressed, I'm taking you to a matinee."
There is a long silence. The woman has no patience for his weakness. She wraps her cold fingers around her brother's ankle. He instantly recoils.
He yelps out an 'ok!'
She crosses her arms, almost amused. He hasn't moved an inch.
"Now, you little shit."
The most dramatic sigh is followed by an oscar-winning display of exhaustion as her deadbeat brother levers himself up and out of bed.
He squints at her from beneath a flurry of dark brown hair, streaked with expensive bleached highlights. She hates how hot he looks, and how much of her food he eats, and how few hours he works at his shit job.
He has the audacity to gesture for her to 'get the fuck out of my room, please.'
Her head tilts to the side slightly, arms still crossed. She shakes it, predator eyes never leaving his bare chest.
Not on your life.
"Get dressed," she orders.
The young man tosses his head back in exasperation, but is obedient. He removes his sweatpants and boxers, becoming fully naked before his own sister. She drinks in the sight of his back and buttocks as he bends over his dresser, reaching deep to the back of the nearly empty drawer for a fresh pair of boxers and socks. No way in hell has she been doing his laundry.
The woman pulls her eyes away at last, and searches the floor for something to make him wear. Their relationship has not always been thus: He the toy, and her the wanton player. But the seeds of it were planted when they were young, and try as she might to avoid it, her brother is too much of a waste. She has to domineer him to get anything done. Is she such a bad person if she's found her own twisted pleasure in it?
She spots a pair of piled up pajama pants in blue plaid. She checks them over for cum stains, and to make sure they have a button fly.
"No underwear today," she says, holding out the pants. "Put these on. You can pick your shirt."
Her brother has just turned around with a roll of fresh boxers. He drops them back in the drawer.
After he's finished dressing she kisses him on the mouth, long and sensuous. She has to be sure he'll struggle to hide his embarrassment, today. Her fingers, manicured to cream-dipped points, play across his hips and lower back.
When she finally pulls away, she looks down at his crotch. His penis is prominent. Through the thin fabric, the perfect silhouette of it's bell-curved head can be seen. She pulls the fabric to the side less than an inch, and his penis springs out into open air, through the fly. She is delighted by the precariousness of his modesty. His hands have grabbed onto her hips to steady himself. She instinctively rips them away.
"Your breath stinks. Brush your teeth and meet me in the car."
She says this while walking out of his room.
The young man twists his waistband about, and manages to slip his stiffened cock inside them. He stomps over to the bathroom, unable to keep from nursing the erection through his pants.
He feels annoyed at being so rudely awakened. Looking into the bathroom mirror, though, his sour mood is slowly eclipsed by the guilt of whiling his summer away in his room. Well, it wasn't even his room. It was his sister's spare bedroom/study he'd overtaken. He can still remember the night he'd dropped his twin size mattress into the corner. He can see dark circles under his eyes from the long nights in front of a screen. The pale cast of his skin, unlike the freckle-dusted tan of his sister, is a testament to his hermitage.
