AUTHOR'S NOTE -- This is a work of fiction. All characters are not intended to reflect any person or persons -- living or otherwise -- and all characters are portrayed as being eightteen years old or older.
This isn't a quickie. If you're looking for a quick-wham-bam fuck, you might go elsewhere. If you want a nice build-up with some story behind the sex, settle in and enjoy! -- SRS.
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I'm Gus and I'm twenty years old. My given name is Augustus, but I go by Dutch as a nickname -- there's a story behind that fact, but that's not why I'm talking to you right now.
What I want to do is tell you about something I've observed as of late. There's a lot of things in life you want to hear, like you did a good job, you made your parents proud of you and such. There's also lots that you don't want to hear, like you're losing your job, or that a dear friend passed away. Some people can take such news in stride . . . others, well, they sort of can't. Personally, I'm somewhat of an easy-going guy. There isn't much out there that I really don't like to hear.
Yet, the one thing I never, ever expected to hear was just how fuckable my baby sister was.
Not that I think Deanna was ever ugly or unattractive. Hell no!
I guess you could say Deanna was a throwback to the All-American, girl-next-door type. My little sister has always been a sweetheart. Even at the age of eighteen, she's barely a slip of a girl, standing up to the middle of my chest in sneakers, flats or heels. Yet she's clearly no kid. Her body was and still is in perfect proportion to her size. She's got a pixie face -- round, with a pert nose, big green eyes and long brown hair that she let grow down to her waist. She was never the sort to smile all wide-mouthed and toothy. Rather she did this little, soft smile that made her chin dimple and made you look at her bee-stung lips which, even when she smiled, they always seemed to be in a permanent pout.
By comparison, I guess I'm the All-American Boy if you need to hold us up against one another. I'm linebacker-tall and pretty fit, except for a bit of a Teddy-bear tummy I can't ever get rid of, no matter how many crunches and stuff Coach makes me do (yeah, I play sports). I contribute it mostly to the fact I love our Mom's cooking, maybe a bit more than I should. I've got dirty-blonde hair, dark eyes and my Dad's rugged looks, though you'd never mistake us for brothers or anything.
But, enough about me . . . we're supposed to be talking about Dee here.
I never thought of her like a lot of guys think of most girls these days. Okay, granted some of those thoughts . . . I've had them, too. Yet they were about other girls, and how much I'd like to know them in a not-so gentlemanly way. That's certainly not something any brother wants to hear about his own baby sister. That she's not just 'cute' or 'pretty', but more along the lines of 'hot' and 'sexy' or the ultimate compliment-slash-onus, 'fuckable'.
That's the word I heard from one friend the other day, and it's part of the reason why I have to tell you this story.
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Being the older/younger sibs that we are, we went against the usual norm and had a lot of friends that ran in both of our respective social circles. So, throughout our later school years, it wasn't unusual for both of our collective girl and guy friends to show up when either one of us turned out to celebrate growing one year older.
This time around, It was Deanna's nineteenth birthday.
Now, our parents frowned on outright binge drinking, but they had no problem with a few sociable drinks. Fortunately Dee's party wasn't intended to be a raucous kegger but both our folks knew that if we were responsible enough, they could trust us to serve a little alcohol. So, our Dad had cheerfully supplied the party with two cases of brew -- provided under the caveat that people in attendance understood the minimum-drink limit and didn't try to wheedle in extra booze or beer, because once all the alcohol was gone, that was it for the night.
So, onto the subject at hand; the friend who clued me into how hot Dee looked to him.
Said-Friend was my buddy Sam; he's the same age as me, a good egg but sometimes tact just isn't something he remembers or uses at will. I could blame it on the fact he's a full-tilt blond -- we're talking bright, lemon-yellow here! -- but Sam's not dumb by any stretch. He just doesn't think sometimes, especially when he doesn't use his common sense as he's about to open his mouth.
The two of us were both 'stag', checking out the few unattached girls that had come to celebrate with Dee and us. Granted, it was sort of an unspoken rule that us guys never used personal celebrations to pick up dates or such. Still, that doesn't mean we couldn't admire how well dressed and lovely several of the girls were.
So, Sam and I had both a beer in hand, nursing them along as we watched the activities around us from a pair of stools next to the island breakfast bar, attached to the kitchen. The party was only an hour and a half old, so most of the activity was centered in the open area of the living room and dinning area. Our friends were all either sitting or standing, talking and laughing and just enjoying company. Someone had turned on the family stereo system and had some good rock music playing underneath the low rumble of conversation.
I had been checking out Amber Richardson -- a underclassman in our school, standing among a quad of her girl friends -- when,out of the blue, Sam let out a low whistle and said, "Your sister's looking pretty good tonight, Dutch!" He paused, then added with an undertone, "Pretty well-nigh on fuckable, to tell the truth."
I turned around from where I sat, about to tell Sam, "Sheesh! Man, don't say stuff like that!", but the moment I got my eyes on Dee . . . well, all cognitive thought just flew out the window for a few moments.
I spied my sister; sitting with one of our other friends on one of the couches in the living room, smiling and laughing at something the dark-haired girl had said. Dee never really dressed like a lot of teenaged girls do these days, with super-tight clothes that had revealing slits or gaps in them. She always went for comfort over fashion -- jeans, long skirts, tees and button-down blouses -- though she never dressed like a slob. That night, she dressed well for the party. An understatement, surely. She had on this black summer dress -- no sleeves, just two straps that crossed over her shoulders and came down in a sweet-heart neckline that showed her cleavage off to good effect. The fabric wasn't tight, but it hugged Dee's curves and fell down her legs to about an inch or so above the knee. No belt, but you couldn't hide my sister's trim waist and bouncy little butt in that outfit. She clearly had on some sort of hose or stockings, which made her legs look utterly fantastic, and she had on low-heeled flats in matching black to compliment the over all look.
When I could get my eyes back up to her face, I lost what must've been another five minutes worth of working-brain capacity. Dee never went for glam or any overstated use of make-up. She always used a bit of eye liner and shadow to make her green eyes stand out, and only a smattering of gloss on her lips. Tonight, she added to that by taking her long hair and twisting it into a single braid that came from behind her neck to trail down over one shoulder and down her front. Sort of like Rapunzel in the fairy tale.
Sam hadn't twigged on what was causing my silence, since he was still ogling Dee and sipping his beer. "Seriously, Dutch, I'm telling you . . . that's one honey of a stone fox there."
I finally snapped out of my brain-lock and scowled at Sam, before I punched him in the arm. "Geez, knock it off you horn-dog! That's Dee you're talking about! My sister, remember!?"
Sam made a mock dodge, grinning at me. "So? Doesn't mean it's still not true, Dude," he said.
"So, duh, I'm her brother," I said, aiming another punch at his shoulder. "S'not what I need to hear, y'know."
Sam just chuckled, holding up his hands in defense. "Okay, okay, okay . . . sorry I said it, Dutch. Just forget it, 'kay?"
I gave him a half-smile and slurped down another swallow of my drink. "Forget what?" I said, after I gave off a semi-loud belch. That got Sam laughing, and we switched conversational gears as some of our other friends came over to join us.
Yet, honestly, I wasn't about to forget it . . . fuck! After Sam all but pointed it out to me, no way in Hell was I going to forget what a fox Dee was!
The rest of the party went off without any other incident or problem . . . at least that's what it looked like.
Truth was, no thanks to Sam's comment about Dee, I kept finding myself looking at her at times when I wasn't engaged in conversation with any of our friends. No matter where Dee was or what she was doing, I couldn't stop my eyes from seeking her out and lingering on her trim little frame and beautiful face. It got to the point I had a few people literally shake me to get me out from under the apparent daze I was in. Embarrassing to be sure, since I had to quickly tell a white lie about thinking over something at school or some class work, just to cover up the fact I was staring all moon-eyed at Dee.
I was a bundle of nerves inside over this. I mean, a brother just isn't supposed to look at his sister like she was a woman. Especially a hot-looking fox; one that he'd love to get alone in a quiet room and-- Sheesh! Listen to yourself! I told myself. You can't be lusting after Deanna like she's the number-one on your top-ten hottie list! What kind of pervert are you, anyway?
Fortunately, Dee never seemed to notice that I was surreptitiously checking her out, nor did anyone else for that matter. God! I can imagine what sort of trouble that would cause among our friends if they suspected I was having taboo thoughts about my sibling!
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Eventually, the party wound down and people started leaving for the night, after giving Dee many 'Happy Birthday' wishes and thanking us for having a great party. Some of the guests helped us with some of the clean up before leaving, so by the time it was just Dee and I, alone in the house, there wasn't that much of a mess to deal with.
I'd just taken out the last of the big garbage bags to the bins at the curb for trash pick-up in the morning, and was strolling back into the kitchen, when I was met by Dee on her way in from the living room. She had a couple of trays of cups and glasses in each hand; moving them towards the kitchen sink. "Here, let me help you," I said, moving to intercept her and take one of the trays before she dropped them all.
"Thanks, Gus!" Dee said brightly. We both deposited the dirty drink ware in the sink and set the trays aside. "Whew! Some shindig tonight, huh?" she asked.
