When sister comes to visit
Unlike my previous stories, this one is a complete work of fiction, inspired by a number of the stories I've read here and enjoyed. If you are among those who find Male/Male contact abhorrent, please leave now. This is my fantasy, not yours. Also note that the only things in common with my real sister and the one in the story are the physical description and one line of dialogue.
Life changed a lot for me that year. I won the lotto, retired from my job, went into business for myself (just for something to stay busy), and bought a really nice house up in the hills. Of course, everyone in the family and just about everyone I knew came to visit once they heard of my windfall. Nearer relatives and friends (nearer in the geographic sense, that is) came to visit first, with those with more travel time making their way as they could to visit my supposed fortune... errr.... me.
All of them were heartily disappointed in just how small the check had turned out to be, but as I explained, 60% of the amount goes away when you select the lump sum option, and another 40% of what's left goes to taxes, so I had basically enough to buy and furnish the house, to set aside an account for property taxes for the next 20 years and some to buy some rental properties to supplement my 401K. The rest I used mostly to set up a small handful of very close friends and to endow college funds for my great-nephews and to give stipends for my siblings. Nobody got a fat seven figure check from me, and those who got six figures quickly found themselves dealing with taxes and other greedy friends and relatives.
My nephew, who'd lived less than a mile from me before the win got the most. There are only two in the next generation of my family - probably the result of me and my nine siblings/step-siblings saying we'd never put a kid through what we'd lived through as kids ourselves - so I have one nephew and one step-niece
As for doing all of the things people fantasize about doing when they get rich ... I might have considered those if I'd won when I was younger (hell, I know I'd have indulged a bunch of those fantasies - I had a plan!), but I'm in my late 50's, and while I'm pretty healthy, I'm not about to start a family or do other things a younger man would do. No lasting obligations, and no one who might have to put up with me if I became senile, or who might want to do me in for my money. So I dated a bit, but no more than when I'd been poor (and yes, I was on the edge of the lower class, barely bringing in $40K my last year drawing a salary.)
Anyway, the nephew came out with a cool million, but banked and invested most of that and then went on a vacation with his girlfriend. The niece got the same, plus $25K for college funds for each of her two boys, and she also invested most of that. After that it was just an endless procession of relatives coming to the house and visiting and trying to impress their needs upon me.
Fortunately for me, this didn't all happen at once, mostly because I didn't tell many people. Instead I waited for word to leak out through the grapevine, and based my reactions on who said what to whom.
One sister came by first, having heard from the nephew only that I'd moved out of my tiny apartment. She arrived with (mostly unwanted) advice on how to decorate, based entirely on her own lifestyle which was completely different from my own and questions about why I hadn't gotten a dog yet and ideas about how she'd get me one, even though I am not a dog person (but she is). The day she came by the worked were installing the pool table in the game room. She kept suggesting paint colors for the various rooms (even though I'd already decided on those, had swatches on the walls, and had hired a painter) and telling me how to deal with my kitchen, and she left with about $250K after an hour's long visit where I said barely a word, calmly sure that when she next came by my house would look like a slightly larger version of hers.
Second stepbrother sent a card of congratulations that week, and assured me that he'd come by to visit, but his teaching gig at the Mayo Clinic was keeping him really busy... which was more contact than we'd had since number one brother's funeral.
Youngest stepsister - Margie - called and tried to set up a meeting, but as all of her conversation on the phone was about how badly her most recent marriage was going and all of the money problems she didn't even get my address. And it was still better than she deserved. All of those years sponging off my dad (now gone) taught her nothing about survival but taking from those who'd worked for their money, and though I'm a staunch liberal, I have no time for mindless parasites.
Oldest full blood sent a note from Baja, where he and his current wife were living. She had invested in property early on and had snagged The Professor while in his class, and they were probably the only ones in the family whose money rivaled my own. They promised to come by during the holidays, and sent some suggestions for carpenters to do built-in bookcases for the den, which I'd already designed, but didn't have the experience to build myself. I'd always left the fine woodworking to him and stuck with other interests, but we'd always gotten along, and I promised him use of the guest room when they got into town.
Middle sister (mother of nephew) came by after calling (a first), and just wanted to see what kind of digs I was in, and to dish the dirt on sisters 4 and 5. She had some good advice on some of the kitchen appliances that had come with the house (she was in property management), and came by when the carpenters were putting in the bookshelves. She got along great with them, and got business cards from a couple of them who were just generally handy. She also had some very interesting ideas for the kitchen (which was, I'd decided, a total gut job), and beside the check I gave her, she also took one to shift mom to a better facility.
She'd been taking care of mom's paperwork since it was needed, and while she was never cheerful or shipper about anything, she was always thoroughly professional, an she came away with a bigger check than anyone but her son and my niece.
So ... a parade, led by the flag team, and complete with marching units and town celebrities. The clowns came later, before the band.
A couple of friends I called and just told them the address and to show up when they could. The ones in town got nice checks from me, as they'd been there for me when life was tough and stuck with me thick or thin. They were welcome as ever, and in all three cases we spent the day and much of the night wandering the garden, playing pool, comparing libraries and art, and just generally brainstorming ways to get in trouble.
But at least one of them talked, which led to the clown showing up to the parade.
My ex showed up the day I was interviewing personal trainers. I'd had an office job with the county for the past 35 years and was feeling both out of shape (accented by moving the furniture and stocking the bookcases and such), and finally able to get past the case of swivel-chair spread I'd developed since turning 50. I'd ever allowed myself to get really
fat
, mind you, but I still remembered my youth and what good shape I'd been in then. I'd never be able to be that fit again, but that was no reason to give up.
So I had a half-dozen young, fit, mostly attractive people waiting by the pool when she showed up unannounced and uninvited. She'd left me years earlier when I turned out to be not as interested in material belongings as her, had burned through one husband's income since, and was in the process of burning through another. She'd retained most of her looks, and was dressed to kill when she came by, flaunting her trim figure and lush color-of-the-week hair, but she wasn't even up to the level of the least fit of the people lounging in the back dressed only in swimsuits or shorts and tank tops, and after getting a nice round of laughter from me she left in a huff.
"If I wasn't good enough for you before, I'm not now. I haven't changed since then - just the setting" I said, and she just glared and sneered.
She left with a barrage of insults to my manhood and my soul (both of which she'd done her own damage to years before - I still have scars, both literal and figurative) and her yells of "Faggot!" as she stormed out raised more than a few eyebrows among the trainer applicants.
Now - to be clear, I'm not gay,
per se.
I never even considered it seriously until she left, though I had numerous friends and acquaintances from my years in show biz that I didn't consider it a big deal. In the months after she left I took up an offer from a friend who'd give me the old "A man will always be able to give a better blowjob than a woman" and proved his point. Since then I'd dome some experimenting and discovered my own limitations and preferences:
1) For friends, I still prefer intelligent, insightful people. As friends, gender and body matter very little. The ex had been one of those before her avarice took over, and she also had a wonderful, lithe shape and firm B-cup titties.
2) For sex, I prefer healthy people. Shape matters. I have some friends who are intellectually stimulating, but who I would not fuck with a ten foot pole, even if I had one, which I don't. But gender isn't as important as physical and emotional health. I'd still rather have a woman as a permanent companion, though - they cuddle much better than men, an I dislike stubble.
3) I have found that I am extremely oral, but violence in any form turns me off immediately, as does anything involving pain or scatology. And that means emotional abuse as a form of pain, and anal sex as a form of scatology. Start calling me names or playing with my ass, and Mister Happy becomes
very
unhappy and wants to leave the party. And if you show me your asshole, I'll just tell you where the bathroom is. I have less than zero interest in that.
3a) I like the taste of cum. Well, clean cum. Smokers taste horrible (and smell horrible). I like the taste of clean pussy. I can reach your G spot with my tongue, and I have learned to deep throat up to ten fat inches unless it's so hard that it can't bend a bit to go down my throat.
4) I'm a bit (more than a bit) of a 'size queen'. No I'm not a queen in any sense of the word, but big, firm boobs are something I find it very difficult to resist. I just want to dive in face first and lick and suck and fondle them. Same goes for cocks - show me a big, firm one, and I just want to dive in face first and devour it. The opportunities I've had to play with both at once (no - I don't mean transgender - I mean parties with both body types available) have been my dream of how to do sex.
5) I find it is better to give than to receive. I can eat pussy and/or suck cock for hours, but fifteen to thirty minutes of (continuous) fucking and once I cum, I'm done.
In any case, the applicants all reacted in their own ways, but calmed down when I let them know she was my bitter ex, who was disappointed to not be a part of my new money and loved to create drama she could revel in. All of them were young enough and ambitious enough to understand where that could come from, yet ambitious enough to not want me to see it in their eyes. Ah, the folly of the young. I could read it all in them, and it didn't bother me at all. If they wanted to suck up (figuratively or literally) that was fine with me. And their being here at all had driven her away, so even the ones who didn't get hired had done me a good turn.
Be that as it may (which one I hired, and how, may be another story, if and when), I interviewed them all, took copious notes and videotapes of all of their interviews, and went back to work.
Some few months later I got an e-mail from oldest sister. She'd sent a little card when she heard about the house, but nothing more. She did well enough, having a pleasant little house on an acre up in Monterey and worked as a therapist. Her experience with 'wedded bliss' had been as fleeting as my own, but other than that we'd only seen each other once or twice a year for the holidays for thirty-some years. We'd been pretty close when we were kids, but our paths had diverged seriously, and our geographic distance had kept it that way.
And that was too bad. She was the most like me in many ways of any of our siblings, and she'd dropped a few hints over the years that she was as adventurous as I was. Like the one time at a christmas gathering when some younger girls had been present and she told them that one of her prerequisites for a boyfriend was "a ten inch cock!" She was also the most attractive of my sisters, with a supple, trim figure, perky C-cup boobs, platinum blonde hair (naturally blonde, which means her hair had been greenish in the summer when we were kids from the chlorine in the pool), and sparkling blue eyes, which had gotten greyer and deeper as time passed.
In an case, she sent a note asking if she and her boyfriend could come stay with me for the weekend two weeks hence. He had a business meeting in town, and if my spare room was available, why not spend some quality time? I responded in the enthusiastic affirmative and spent the next two weeks cleaning, spiffying things up, and stocking the refrigerator and the wine cooler (which I rarely used, but kept full for guests).
The weekend she visited was a hot one. Not unusual in southern California, but it was the kind that bakes you. I'd gotten into the habit of getting up and swimming a few laps in the pool every morning before breakfast, and having my trainer over twice a week for an hour, and of wearing as little as needed, which meant that I was slightly tan (not too much - we have a history of skin cancer in the family) and in much better shape than I'd been when I retired.
Sister and friend (let's call them Dana and John) asked not to be picked up a the airport, as they'd need a rental car for running around that weekend, and I only had the one car (why have more when not needed?), so I gave them the address and the most efficient route and kept a window from the airport web site open on one of my monitors that morning. It was hot enough that after my swim I'd just put on cutoffs and a T-shirt, and even those seemed a bit much some times, even with the windows open, but ... fifty plus years of habit is hard to break, and I only turned the A/C on when absolutely necessary, so Dana and John arrived at about ten o'clock Saturday morning to find me sweaty but awake.
