Lucy Shoes

"Say it, Evie!" My big sister leans over me, her intense blue eyes blazing.

She's straddling me, pinning my wrists to the mattress. If I were a man, I'm sure I could break free of her grip. Of course, if I know my big sister, any man who ever got between her legs like I am wouldn't be a virgin for long, either.

My own baby blues glare back defiantly. We're locked in a ritual from our childhood, a battle of wills as much as strength. When she maneuvers her legs underneath her, I know from experience that I have only the slimmest chance of victory. Still, I have to try. We're nearly the same size now. One of these days, I'll beat her, and then I'll be on top.

I tighten my jaws and push against her weight, grunting, jerking my hips side to side in a vain attempt to throw her off. Eventually, breathless and out of steam, I stop struggling, and surrender.

"Say it!" she demands again.

"Okay, Jenny, I give up," I say, panting. "You win." She always wins. Once - just once - I'd like to be the one who comes out on top.

Now that I've uttered the magic words, she rolls off of me with a satisfied grin. Despite our sibling rivalry, this has been the best week ever. We haven't spent much time together since she got married. My college was on summer break anyway, so she invited me to stay in the city a few days while her husband was out of town. The first night we went shopping uptown, and the next night we enjoyed a five-star dinner and saw a musical. I've had nothing but fun.

Tonight, she let me borrow her license - since I grew up and cut my hair similar to hers, we're nearly twins - and we went dancing, in and out of at least a half dozen clubs. Back at her house, we mixed some margaritas and hung out on her bed, talking and playing like we used to do when we were kids. My predicament began with a pillow fight. I swung with all my strength, but Jenny ducked. While I was still off-balance, her pillow caught me broadside and knocked me flat. Before I could recover, she jumped on me.

Now we lay side by side, exhausted, Jenny in her husband's oversize tee-shirt, me in my pink babydoll.

She can't resist taunting me a little more. "That guy Kevin at the club was a damn stud, and he liked you. You should have gone home with him. I'll bet he would have fixed your little problem."

"It's not a problem, doggone it, Jenny. Chastity is a choice. Besides, he's only a boy."

"He's older than you are, Evie, and it doesn't take a genius to learn how to pop a cherry."

"I'm sure you know all about that."

She flashes a sidelong glance, but lets it pass. "C'mon, Evie, I saw the way you looked at him. You know he's cute," she says. "You're just too damn picky. You had everything going for you last night - that hot dress and my 'lucky shoes'. They've never let me down."

"I wore them because you wanted me to, Jenny, but you know I don't dress in heels often. They felt so clumsy, I was afraid I'd break an ankle when I tried to dance. Kevin did seem nice, though. I got his number, but I'm not going to hop into bed with some boy I just met at a club. I want my first time to be a magical experience." Gazing into the distance, I imagine my Adonis carrying me to a flowered bier. "He will have to be someone special," I sigh.

She mocks me. "Awww, is my little baby sister saving herself for marriage?"

"No!"

"Then what the fuck are you waiting for?" she says, refilling our margaritas from the pitcher.

"I don't know, Jenny. The boys I date are nice, but they're still just boys. I've never been in love with a man, so I've never had a reason to do it."

"A reason? Stop with all the intellectual crap, Evie. If you need a 'reason' to fuck, I'll give you a reason: because that's what your pussy is made for. Fucking."

"Oh, Jenny, please. Don't be so crude. It's called a vagina, and it's for making love."

"A vagina is what they teach you about in school," she says. "A pussy is what you fuck with. You've got one; you just need to let it out to play."

"I'll call it whatever I want, okay? Just stop giving me a hard time. When I'm ready to make love, it'll be my decision, and it'll be with a real man, not some horny little kid."

"Well, I don't care how old they are." She gulps down the rest of her drink. "If you're not interested in Kevin, then maybe I'll take him out for a ride. Where's that number?"

"Jenny!"

"What?"

"You're married, that's what!"

Her tongue traces the salty rim of her glass. "But Eddie's not here now, is he?" she says, with casual disdain.

"Jenny! I can't believe you. Ed is such a wonderful guy. How would you feel if you found out he was in bed with some girl right now at that convention?"

"My 'Teddy Bear'?" she laughs derisively. "That sort of thing would never even cross Eddie's sweet little mind. He's old fashioned, a one-woman man, and almost as innocent as you. It took me nearly a month just to get a taste of his cock. Don't get me wrong - when he's here, my little pussy gets lots of exercise. His tongue is...mmm..." She stares off, dreamily. Her voice has dropped an octave, and her vowels flow smooth as honey - all the signals I recognize whenever she gets turned on.

I wouldn't tell her, but I'm feeling turned on, too. A little alcohol cranks up my arousal, and this discussion stirs my imagination. My breasts want to be touched, and I've got a moist, tingling sensation between my legs. I resist the temptation to scratch my panties.

Despite my excitement, I'm flabbergasted at Jenny's audacity. "Geez, you've been married how long? Less than two years? I can't believe you'd even think about running around on him like you did with your boyfriends. This is different, Jenny. Show some self-control. Take a cold shower. You married the perfect man. I tell you, if he was my husband..."

"If he was your husband," she interrupts, laughing, "you'd both still be virgins."

I wallop her with a pillow, and it's on again.

Eventually, when we can no longer keep our eyes open, we snuggle together like we did years ago, and fall asleep.

When I wake up the next morning, Jenny has already gone to work. My plan to spend the whole day at the modern art museum is cut short. At lunchtime I get a text from Jenny that says, "srpriz 2nite - b reddy @ 6 - hot formal and lucky shz". I scurry home around three. After a shower, I rummage through her splendid closet and find a strapless, champagne-colored satin cocktail. Red crystal earrings and a single-ruby necklace match the scarlet open-toe sling-backs that Jenny calls "lucky". I practice walking in them, modeling in the full-length hall mirror. I look saucy, but the shoes still feel awkward.

She rushes in at 5:30 and changes into a sleek black and gray cocktail and a strand of pearls. She won't tell me where we're going. We drive for nearly a half hour into the suburbs, and pull into the long circular driveway of a huge mansion. Valets are parking dozens of luxury cars. Inside the three-story marble foyer, the first person I see is the star of a crime drama on TV. Then I recognize a well-known rock guitarist.

Jenny whispers, "Evie, if you can't find that special man to help you get laid here, there's no hope for you."

"Stop it, Jenny!" I whisper back.

"Let me know if you need any condoms." she says.

"Don't worry, nothing's going to happen. Besides, you know I've been on the pill since..."

She's already disappearing into the crowd, laughing at me.

I take a champagne from a waiter's tray and mill around. Every celebrity is surrounded by an entourage, and I can't get close. I focus on the buffet, piled high with exotic finger foods.

As I lean over to reach for more caviar, someone grabs my butt. I whip around to find an older man in a nice suit. I'm close to slapping him, but he apologizes, red-faced. He stammers that I looked like someone else, then he slinks away.

As I wander through the mansion, several attractive young men approach me, little more than well-dressed boys. While we talk, their eyes are busy caressing my curves. It's obvious what they're after. I politely let them know that I'm not interested, and they saunter off in search of a starlet to salve their wounded egos.

Through the giant windows I see Jenny out by the pool. She's perched on the lap of the older man who assaulted my behind. She leans over him, her boobs brushing against his cheeks. One of his hands squeezes her butt, the way he did mine; the other hand, half hidden under the hem of her dress, strokes her thigh, gradually moving higher. She's laughing. I grab another drink and turn back in time to see her kiss him, long and deep. My face flushes and my stomach tightens.

A short while later, Jenny finds me back at the buffet. After three or four glasses (or was it six?) I'm woozy, and barely able to stand in these darn shoes.

"Hey, Evie, you having fun?" she asks.

"Not really. Who's the old goat who swallowed your tongue?" The alcohol has loosened my inhibitions.

"Oh. That's Robert, a big broker in the office two floors down from mine. He's the one who invited us to this party. He's had a lot to drink, you know, so I think I'm going to, uh, make sure he gets home okay." I hear those low, sultry tones in her voice again.

"You gonna' screw him?"

"I don't know. Maybe. We'll see. What's your problem?"

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Enjoy yourself for a change." She stuffs a wad of twenties into my hand. "This should cover a cab if you can't find one of these studs to take you home and make a real woman out of you."

"Dammit, Jenny, let go of the virginity thing, will you?"

"I will, if you will." She winks.

"What if Ed calls? What do I say to him?"

"Oh, Evie, you'll figure something out. You've always been the smart one. You got all the brains. I've had to find other ways to get what I wanted."

"Oh, so you're a professional slut? What's the going rate for adultery these days?"

She glowers at me. "Hey, you enjoy yourself as much as you can, baby sister," she says, "it might help if you pull that broomstick outa' your ass." She turns sharply and marches away.

I down another drink in one swallow, stagger to the front and ask for a cab from a valet. Several of them hit on me, too - one even offers to drive me home himself. I flip him off.

Back in Jenny's apartment, I head straight for the fridge. I start to pour a glass of burgundy, then decide to take the whole bottle to the sofa instead.

Too drunk and too angry to follow the sitcoms on TV, I'm fuming, gulping the wine. What's the big damn deal about sticking some boy's little penis into my vagina? Yes, it's a vagina, big sister, and mine gets plenty of exercise, too. There are still decent guys out there who know how to treat it right. I've had some damn nice orgasms, more than just the ones I give myself. Thanks to you and your popsicle lessons, big sister Jenny, I know how to use my mouth to keep my boyfriends satisfied, too, and the taste really isn't so bad. We don't have to screw to enjoy ourselves.

Kevin, the dancer from last night fills my thoughts again. Remembering his lanky good looks and his charming manner, I begin to wish he were here. I'll bet we could have a great time together without getting it on like a couple of animals. A familiar warmth grows in my chest, and there's an itchy feeling between my legs. Between reminiscences of passionate moments and the massive doses of champagne and wine, I'm aroused and uninhibited. I rub my own breasts through the smooth satin, then squeeze them, a prelude to pleasuring myself.

Leaning back, I open my thighs, throwing one foot up on the sofa. Geez, I completely forgot that I was still wearing these red shoes - Jenny's 'lucky shoes'. Somehow, they feel more comfortable. But lucky? Hah! The only luck I've had is that Jenny's not here to harass me. No male companionship, though. I guess these shoes won't be working their magic tonight.

Nuzzling a finger into the moist crevice in my panties, I shudder, tingling, and raise the bottle in a solitary toast: "Here's to virginity." After gulping down the bitter dregs, I wince, and the red wine dribbles down my chin, over my chest, and onto Jenny's expensive dress.

I jump up, cursing and swearing, then dash to the bathroom, strip off the dress, and soak the stains under cold water before hanging it up to dry. My frustration is complete. In tears, I pull on one of Jenny's oversize tees and collapse across her bed, sobbing.

The next thing I know, the front door shuts with a bang, waking me up. Here in the bedroom it's dark, but the living room light is still on. The clock says it's a little after ten; I've been out for only a short while. I smile to myself with smug satisfaction that maybe she didn't score with her friend.

I hear her open the fridge and pour a glass of something. I'm still pretty woozy myself, or I'd join her. Maybe even propose a toast to celibacy.

After turning out the lights, she comes into the bedroom. The first sounds are the zips and whispers of shedding clothes. I'm gathering the courage to say something sarcastic to her when I hear a loud "chink" as something lands on the dresser. Keys. Lots of keys. Something isn't right. Jenny has only four keys, and she keeps them in her purse.

Someone crawls into bed behind me, someone large. I freeze. A man's yawn, a low groan, then he snuggles up behind me and wraps a hairy, muscular arm around my waist, his broad hand resting under my ribs. When he kisses my shoulder at the base of my neck, his bristly face scratches my tender skin. I shiver, frightened and disoriented.

"Conference was crap." Her husband's deep whisper blows warm breath across the hairs of my neck, and more chills race across my skin. I'm stunned, speechless. Ed says, "We had too many people, so they let me come home. I took the first flight back. God, I missed you, Jen."

My mind races, calculating, searching for a solution. All I can think to do is wait and hope that he'll go to sleep so I can sneak out and call Jenny.

I pretend to be half-asleep, grunting a couple of approving syllables through a closed mouth, and pat his hand.

He pulls me closer, his easy strength reminding me of the dance we shared at their wedding. I felt so contented and carefree in his powerful arms, the firmness of his body against mine as he guided me around the floor, his big, gentle hands leading me into elegant spins and swirls and romantic dips. He was a fantastic dancer and I was on cloud nine. How I had envied Jenny.

"You smell good," he whispers, his fingers gliding back and forth across the tee shirt covering my belly. Another light kiss to my neck incites a new wave of ripples from my scalp to my toes, centering deep in my tummy, right underneath his hand where his hand lies. I remain absolutely still, silent, and a little ashamed of what I feel.

"Don't you want to welcome me home?" he says.

"Welcome home, Teddy Bear," I mumble through my teeth. Somehow, my voice has turned low and silky, much like Jenny's. Must be the alcohol. I reach back to pat his hip, only half hoping that he will roll over and go to sleep. I'm surprised to find naked skin instead of underwear.

Ed hugs me tighter, planting a third kiss, and a fourth along my exposed shoulder, up my neck. His erection presses against my butt. He takes my earlobe between his lips, and thrills course through my body. My nipples are hard, sensitive.

"You know what I mean," he whispers, his voice full of intent. Lifting the bottom of my tee shirt, his palm circles my bare navel, then his fingers slip beneath the elastic of my panties.

An inner voice screams at me, "Stop it, girl! This has gone too far. Your sister got herself into this mess. Let her take the heat for cheating. Tell him who you are, Evie, before it's too late!"

But his touch makes me feel warm, excited and desired, so I close my eyes and quiet the voices of reason, pushing myself into his hand. For the first time, I'm with a real man. In his hands I feel like a woman. His fingers trace the outline of my lower lips. I moan and grind my butt against his hardness. With a low groan close to my ear, he kisses his way back down to my shoulder, the stiff hairs scraping across my sensitive neck. His heavy scent is like opium, drowning me in a sensuous cloud, and I want him as I've wanted no other.

He rolls me onto my back and takes each of my nipples between his teeth through the thin fabric as he stretches my panties over my hips, pushing them down my legs. I can't stop myself from helping.

My conscience protests again, "This is so wrong, Evie! He's your sister's husband!", but the cries are drowned out by the tip of his tongue flicking between my legs, invading my virginal sanctuary, though not quite far enough to know my little secret. He clenches my ass with both hands, lifting me off the mattress, and gorges himself on my swollen labia, his stubbled cheeks chafing my inner thighs as he sucks intently on my clit. So this is what it's like to be Jenny.

My breasts crave attention. I knead them myself, rolling and squeezing the aching nipples. The blood rushes to my head and my legs shake uncontrollably. For a moment, everything is still except for the insistent fluttering against my sex. A warmth blooms deep in my belly, and the pleasure spreads like wildfire. With a barely audible cry - "Oh..." - I'm grasping at the sheets, body arched, while Ed laps at my bottom, greedily drinking up the wetness.

"Good God, Jen," he says. "Your pussy is so sweet tonight. You never tasted so good."

I smile in the darkness. If he only knew.

He rises to his knees and spreads my thighs, but I'm not ready for that yet.

Sitting up, I turn him around and push him down. In a low, sultry voice - my best "Jenny-in-lust" imitation - I say, "No-no, Teddy Bear. My turn," then I kneel between his legs.

His penis is hot in my hand, thick and full of promise, twitching as I explore it in the dark. From the mat of coarse hair, it rises in a graceful curve. Guttural noises rumble from deep in his chest as my fingertips trace the soft ridges of uneven veins, climbing to the pompous, velvet crown. What is it Jenny calls it? Oh, yes, a 'cock'. Such a fitting name for this one, so proud, so...cocksure. Of all of these that I've held, this is the first time I try to imagine how it will feel inside me.

I bend to him, take him in my mouth, ply the skills that have kept my boyfriends happy and kept me intact: a gentle twist of the foreskin, a teasing lick or two, and long, lavish sucking, my tongue pressed against the underside, just like Jenny showed me with popsicles so long ago.

As I enjoy the salty flavor of his skin, the dark scent of his arousal, I have to wonder what penetrating me will feel like to him. In a momentary panic, I worry: will I break easily? Will he know? Insinuating my own fingers into the moisture between my legs, I spread my wetness and press against the pliant membrane one last time, testing, stretching. I've taken this too far to back out now.

The quick, little sucking sounds tell me he is near climax. I am tempted to take him all the way, to taste my brother-in-law's delightful cream, to feel it pulsing, sticky and hot, into my mouth and down my throat. This night is transcendent, however, ripe with serendipity, and his cock has yet another duty to perform.

After a final, luscious lick, I straddle his thighs. I open the flower of my innocence to him with two fingers, and swirl his soft tip between my puffy, dew-drenched lips. My stomach is churning. This must go fast; no time for either of us to think. Still, I pause to savor the thrill, like reaching the summit on a rollercoaster, to relish this final held-breath moment, just before...

"Hey, Jen," he says, "why are you wearing your 'lucky shoes' in bed?"

Shoes? Damn, I forgot! Wait...lucky shoes? Could it be? No time to ponder - think fast, girl!