Here's a fun, rather self-indulgent story I wrote. If you're not a Dylan fan you might not appreciate the humour, but I hope you like the story anyway.
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"Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet." -- Bob Dylan
The ringing of the phone startled Jim Mellor as he lay on his couch, staring up at the ceiling. He looked at his watch, then the phone. It was almost three on a Saturday afternoon and this was the fourth time the phone had rung that day. He had ignored it the previous times, content to listen to music while wallowing in misery and self-pity. But now he decided to answer it this time, just to make the ringing stop.
"Fuck," Jim hissed as he listened to the sixth ring of the phone. "Okay... I give up... I'm coming..." he spat out as he got up to answer the phone.
"Jim, are you okay? I've been trying to get you all day."
Jim felt somewhat relieved when he heard the voice of his older sister, Amy, on the phone. If there was anyone he could bear to talk to in his present state, it was her. He gripped the phone tighter in his hand and sighed.
"Yeah... I'm okay," he said wearily.
There was a long pause, then Amy said "Shit, do you have a band playing there? What's that music?"
"Dylan," he intoned flatly.
Amy Mellor was not surprised by her brother's answer. She wondered why she had even bothered to ask. For years Jim had been a huge Bob Dylan fan, often saying there are only two types of music: Dylan, and everything else. Amy often liked to hector her brother by telling him she would rather listen to cats fucking than Dylan, but she secretly enjoyed many of his songs. Besides, anything her brother was interested in she made a point of familiarizing herself with. And with Jim, at least a cursory knowledge of Bob Dylan was essential if you were going to relate to him. It was as though the lyrics of The Poet Laureate of Rock 'n' Roll were the very key to understanding her younger brother. She could almost gauge his moods based on which album he was listening to at any given point.
"Which album?" Amy asked.
"Blood on the Tracks," came his reply.
More silence, then a groan. "Shit, Jim, what's wrong?" she asked, now sounding concerned.
Jim let out a defensive laugh and cursed himself for not turning his stereo down before answering the phone. "What makes you think something's wrong?" he asked, trying to sound blithe.
"Okay, now I'm sure of it because you just answered my question with a question," she said. "But there must be, if you're listening to that album and ignoring the phone. Remember Dylan himself said he couldn't understand someone enjoying that sort of pain."
Jim let out another sigh. "Sometimes I regret sharing my musical tastes with you," he joked.
"Okay, quit avoiding my question, Little Brother," she said with a dim laugh. "What's wrong?"
Jim felt the sweat on his palm begin to coat the phone. His eyes darted to the stereo, then to the wall in front of him. "Shelly dumped me," he said.
"What? When?" his sister blurted out.
"Last night... almost as soon as I got to her place," he told her.
"Why -- if you don't mind telling me," she said.
"To tell you the truth, I'd really rather not get into it right now," he told her. "It's still a fresh wound. Sorry, Amy. Give me some time, then I'll give you all the gory details."
"Okay... whatever you're comfortable with. But, right now, don't wall yourself off. Get out. Do something," she encouraged him.
"I don't need to go out," he insisted. "I can do things here."
"Yeah -- like listen to "You're A Big Girl Now" and "If You See Her, Say Hello" over and over, till you cry a bathtub full of tears."
Jim laughed. "Well, "Idiot Wind" is playing now, and it sort of suits my mood."
"At least it's not "Dirge", huh?" she said with a feeble laugh. "Look, why don't you come over here and hang out? You shouldn't be alone right now. I promise not to play any of my U2 albums."
"Thanks, Amy, but that's okay," Jim said, surprised that he was now smiling.
"Seriously, Jim -- I'll make a big pot of spaghetti and some of my world famous sauce to go with it. What do you say? It would be good to see you and spend some time together, regardless of your mood. I hardly saw you while you were dating Shelly. I've missed you," she said, pleading with him.
Now Jim felt pangs of guilt as he listened to his older sister. She was right. In the nearly six months that he had been dating Shelly he had neglected his friends and even his own sister. Getting together now would be beneficial to both of them.
"Okay. Thanks. Give me about an hour," he told her. "I want to grab a shower so I'll feel like a human being again."
"That's perfect. I have to dash out for a few things. I'll meet you here in an hour. Thanks, Jim. Don't think I'm doing you a favour either. I want to spend some time with you; it's been ages," she said.
"I know... I'll see you later, Amy," he told her.
Once he was standing under the spray of the hot water in the shower Jim found his mood beginning to improve. Then he realized it was all because of Amy. She was as much like a friend to him as a sister, although she was almost four years older. He valued the relationship they had greatly and glad they were close -- both emotionally and in terms of distance. Her apartment was just on the other side of town from his, which meant they could visit one another often. Unfortunately that had dwindled once he got involved with Shelly. Now Jim regretted this even more and vowed to himself to rectify it.
As Jim drove his car to his sister's apartment he found himself smiling. The closer he got, the happier he felt. When he arrived at Amy's apartment on McDougal St. he could smell food cooking. Until she had asked him to come over, the thought of eating had almost nauseated him. Now he began to feel the beginnings of hunger pangs as the aroma of his sister's spaghetti sauce hit his nostrils.
"I'm so glad you decided to come over, Jim," Amy said as she greeted him at the door. Her brown eyes sparkled as she smiled at him. Even before he had a chance to close the door behind him her arms were about his neck and her full lips were pressed to his cheek where she planted a loud, smacking kiss.
"Well, I couldn't turn down your spaghetti," he said.
Jim pushed the apartment door closed with his heel and returned his sister's hug. Now the scent of her perfume overwhelmed that of the food on the stove and Jim closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. His hand moved up Amy's back as he felt her brown hair tickle the side of his face. Her firm breasts were pressed hard to his chest and Jim's senses were flooded with with the scent and feel of his beautiful sister. His cock began to stiffen as she shifted against him, rubbing her breasts over his chest. Through her blouse he felt no bra strap and suddenly the image of her heavy breasts moving freely as she walked about filled Jim's mind. When he felt the curve of her stomach pressing harder against his erection he slipped his arms from around her and took a step back.
"The food smells wonderful," he said, trying to ignore the throbbing of his cock.
"Thanks," she said. "I hope it tastes as good."
Amy turned and walked towards the kitchen. Jim followed her, his eyes glued to her tight grey skirt hugging her hips and ass. Her backside looked firm and just round enough for his taste. But it was always his sister's front that Jim was most preoccupied with. Her thick brown hair and eyes that were a shade darker made her very striking -- not to mention her breasts, which seemed to be the object of either desire or envy of both men and woman.
"You're a great cook," he told his sister. "I've never had anything you've made that wasn't delicious. The man who marries you is gonna end up weighing a ton."
Amy let out a bittersweet laugh and looked back from the stove at her brother standing beside the kitchen table. "Well, it seems like no man wants me, because I'm twenty-six and still single," she lamented.
"Don't give up," he advised her. "There are worse things than being single -- like being married to the wrong person."
Amy stopped stirring the spaghetti sauce to reflect on her brother's statement for a few moments, then nodded. "Yeah, you're right," she concluded. "I've dated a few Mr. Wrongs in my life. I think it's time to find Mr. Right."
"I know what you mean," he said.
"So you're looking for Mr. Right too?" Amy turned from the stove again and grinned.
"Shut up -- you know what I mean... Ms. Right," he chuckled.
Jim pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. He ran his eyes down his sister's body, then back up again, lingering on her left breast. It gently quaked inside her blouse as she stirred the spaghetti sauce and her nipple was very hard. He had an erection that seemed to refuse to die and he began to worry that she would notice it.
"Here -- taste this..."
Amy turned from the stove holding a large white plastic spoon with spaghetti sauce on it in her right hand. She held her other palm beneath it as she leaned over her brother, holding the spoon close to his mouth. "How does that taste?" she asked.
The spaghetti sauce tasted perfect in Jim's opinion. It always did when his sister made it. But what he was really concentrating on was the view down her blouse he had as she leaned over. Amy was wearing a jade-coloured blouse with the top two buttons undone. Jim had thought nothing of it earlier, but now with her hovering over him he could see her heavy, round breasts gently swaying inside her blouse.
"How is it?" she asked nervously.
"Perfect, as usual." Jim raised his eyes. His sister was smiling, but it didn't seem to him that it was because of his reaction to her cooking.
"Good. It always makes me happy when a man likes the taste of my sauce," Amy said as she returned to the stove. She turned her head around and gave him a wily grin, then let out a sexy laugh.
"You pervert," he spat out, laughing, but excited by his sister's lewd comment.
