Author's Note:
This story contains sexually explicit and incestuous descriptions. If you are not happy or comfortable with this, please, don't read it.
The story is completely fictional.
All persons mentioned performing sexual acts are 18 years or older.
No keyboard was harmed during the process of writing.
Enjoy!
*******
Getting all the stuff in my car wasn't as easy as I thought. Being too much of a Fast'n'Furious fan had me sell my Pick-Up and buying this little Japanese street racer. In retrospective some major bullshit decision, not only when it comes to space for groceries, but also for girls ... if you know what I mean.
My last girlfriend was always complaining about my car, especially when we were driving to the lake in summer.
"This car is something for boys to pose off in front of an ice-cream store, not to drive to the lake up in the mountains."
Aargh, I still can hear her annoying voice in my head when thinking about it.
"Is anybody here to help?" I screamed through our house while carrying the first bags in the kitchen, but nobody showed up.
"Thanks for helping," I muttered into the empty kitchen with a mix of anger and frustration when I was done, while grabbing a beer out of the fridge. Not looking back over my shoulder, I couldn't see who was coming in from the garden, but the footsteps told me somebody was.
"You were
asked
politely to help, but you just scream through the house and expect somebody to show up," my dad reprimanded me. „Each and every one has to perform several tasks so we can prepare this event within time. Your first job was getting our order from the store to this very kitchen, and you're already late. No time for a break and definitely not for a beer."
He didn't raise his voice but spoke calm and quiet as always, and as far as I recognized, he added his do-not-push-me-over-the-edge-tone ... and boy, do I not wanna do this right now!
Being an ex-army commander, he clearly knows how to give orders or getting back his respect, and what else am I supposed to say except "Yes, sir," while putting the beer back in the fridge and heading right back to my next task.
***
"Listen up! You know I am not good at giving a speech, but you all have done a great job today! The garden looks great, the snacks are prepared, the drinks ... well ... everything is ready for the event and our guests will have a wonderful time tomorrow. Thanks!" our dad raised his glass and went back in the kitchen.
"Did he really just say 'thanks'?" my sister Sara asked in surprise.
"I heard it, too," I answered, still looking at the spot where he stood just seconds ago.
"Why is this party so important to him?"
"Event!" I corrected her with a grin on my face and tried to sound posh. "He always speaks of it as an event, my dear sister. And, to answer your question, I've no idea."
She rolled her eyes and tried to slap me on my shoulder like we always do when one was mocking the other, but I was faster and scooted out of her reach.
"I know he calls it that, but ... anyway. Do you know what it's all about?"
"Nope."
"Any idea?"
"Nope."
"You know who's showing up?"
"Nope."
"Boy, aren't you the eloquent one!" she said rolling her eyes. Now it was her turn to mock me.
***
The next day we had several hours before the guests would arrive, so I slept a little longer as usual. My parents left in the morning for 'getting some fresh air to keep a clear head' -- at least this was written on the post-it which was sticking on the coffee machine.
My sis was already sitting in front of the tv in our living room playing some sort of ego shooter. I always wondered how she maintained her athletic figure while being a couch potato and loving fast food. Not that she didn't do any sports at all, but I never saw her spending time in the gym or doing some exercises at home like my ex-girlfriend did.
With 5'7'' tall, she has a real well shaped figure, slender with slim legs, a nice butt and a flat belly. And she got some firm C-cup boobs, 32C if I'm not mistaken. Her hair reaches down between her shoulder blades and has a side cut on the left. The short hair on the side cut maintained her original light brown color, but she dyed the long hair in a mix of peroxide blonde and grey. Combined with her still brown and full eyebrows it looked really good, not to say awesome.
Back then, when Sara got her hair done like this, she still was a trainee and wasn't allowed to get a tattoo on the side of her head or a nose piercing like she wanted. So she rebelled a little against our parents and shaved a pattern in her side cut (which she still has, but varies over time) and used a fake nose ring, which she mostly puts on the left ala of the nose.
It was hell of a discussion back then and for my parents, her style and outfit were definitely something they struggled to get used to. But my sister was working in fashion design and photography, both in the same company, depending on the task she gets assigned to, so her whole appearance is something which goes along with her job.
Since Sara switched to this kind of style, she didn't really change any more in my view, but that's how it is with someone you see every day, isn't it? The only major change to me were the tattoos on her right arm and left leg. She got them about 2 years ago and took her 4 months to complete, and to our both surprise, our parents didn't even say a word.
"Aren't you a little too old for that?" I asked still a little sleepy while pointing to the game on the tv.
Her being now 22 I honestly thought she was. I was thinking about saying something for being that old and still live at home, but this would become a boomerang. I am 16 months older than her and also live at our parents' house, so I bit my tongue and just wanted to leave as she completed my thoughts without turning around. "Yeah, and I am still living at our parents' house. But so do you, bookie."
A comment she seemed to regret the moment she said it.
***
My sister called me 'bookie' since I started studying. To be honest, I have no idea why, because it was not business studies, which would be the obvious. I am studying industrial design. Drawing, designing and being creative in general runs in our blood, I guess. At least in the blood of our generation. And yes, I also still live with our parents -- or better, I live with them again.
I once had moved out from home and in together with my best friend Henry, but everybody just called him Harry. Some mums of girls we knew secretly called him 'the Harry to marry' because he was such a handsome guy and for them, he portrayed the ideal son-in-law. To me he was more like a brother than just a friend, because we knew each other since kindergarten. Of course, we had our disagreements and even small fights, who doesn't, but never something we couldn't sort out. The best part of our friendship was, we could talk about everything without any regrets or prejudice. Something I could not do with any other person, including members of my family.
We were so close that there even was the rumor we are a gay couple, so we took it a step further and shared an apartment. For our amusement (and the embarrassment of our parents) we painted our front door in a light pink with both our names on it surrounded by a heart shaped cloud. We always had to explain the way our front door looked, when there were female visitors, but the story was quite good for breaking the ice and sometimes we happily agreed to proof our sexual orientation to them. Luckily, we had completely different tastes when it came to girls ... which was good, because that way there was never any envy or argument about them.
We were on our own and enjoyed life as much as we could. A few month later everything changed. It still feels like some sort of a bad dream when thinking back -- which I try to avoid as best as I can.
I was just coming back to our apartment when I saw police knocking at our door.
After asking for my name and ID, the officer, although he saw both our names written on the door he just knocked at, asked me, "Do you know a Henry Alliser?"
We for sure were no bad guys or in any sort of illegal stuff, but to be honest we sometimes tested the legal limits, especially when it came to pranking us or other friends. It wasn't like the police already knew us by name, but we had enough encounters with people in uniforms and were familiar with being questioned, so I was not really surprised or suspicious seeing them at our door.
"You mean Henry Allister, with a 't'." I tapped on his name on the door while opening it.
The officer just nodded.
"You talkin' 'bout that crazy guy who lives here? Oh yeah, I do know him!" trying to sound polite but like some sort of tough guy at the same time.
"Well, Mr. Allister was involved in an accident. We are sorry to deliver the bad news, but he succumbed to his severe injuries on the way to the hospital."
Everything in my head started to spin, my stomach was suddenly turning upside down and I thought I had to throw up. This was no more having a little trouble, playing pranks or whatever.
That was the day, my sister saw me at my worst. I could not stop crying, I just could not stop. She was the one who took me back home to our parents' house. She even took the next days off from work, so I had somebody to talk to when I needed it most, a shoulder to lean on or just somebody near so I didn't have to be alone.
After the funeral I could not return to my apartment, where everything reminded me of Harry, so I stayed in my old room.
The following weeks was the time, when my sister and I went from being siblings to being best friends. We talked like Harry and I used to, I could weep on her shoulder when I felt up to it without being ashamed, she even started to share one or two secrets with me. We didn't just speak, we really talked with each other. Of course, my parents were there for me, too, but it was my sister who dragged me out of my depression.
That's why I wanted to show her, how much she meant to me. I always loved raven because they are wise, intelligent, mysterious and -- at least for me -- symbolize some sort of a secret keeper. So I got myself a tattoo on my left chest of a raven sitting on a perch, with the letters 'y.w.b.i.m.h.f.' underneath. I got her a necklace with an inch-tall silver heart, having the same letters engraved on its back.
As I entered the house, I saw her sitting on the couch watching tv, just in her sweatpants and a washed out, not to say worn, sleeveless shirt. In that moment I was thinking about giving her the necklace during dinner, when she will wear something a little more suitable with my parents present but decided otherwise. I sat next to her with a big, silly grin on my face and just stared at her, until she turned towards me.
"Hey, Lloyd Christmas! Didn't expect you to visit me on my couch."
"Damn! I was thinking about Harry Dunne," I answered, referring to one of our favourite movies.
"This all" --I started right away while trying to capture the scene with my hands-- "is something that I really enjoy. Being able to fool around, but also having profound conversations with someone I trust and care about. I know I've said it several times, but it means so much to me. That's the reason why I have something for you."
She put on a serious face and turned off the tv while I was reaching in my pocket and retrieved a small velvet bag. Her eyes widened in anticipation and when she opened it, she teared up a little. She almost jumped over and bear hugged me on the couch, which caused us both to be in some strange twisted positions. When I tried to hug her back, my right hand couldn't reach between her and the backrest up to her back, so I gripped her butt instead. Luckily, she didn't care about that in this moment.
