I'm still working on the behemoth stories. Here's something I poked at in the meantime, and I spit this one out pretty quick, too. Hope there aren't too many errors. For those that like their fiction hard, this probably isn't your sauce. No worries, I have that coming. I do appreciate the comments and criticisms. It's helping, I hope.
Over the Edge
I had been at Zach's for over an hour now. I couldn't believe the position he put me in, as I sat there, silently sulking.
Allow me to back up and explain everything. Zach was my older brother by two years. At 28, he was doing pretty well for himself. He owned a nice house on Long Island he bought with money he'd earned from an internet venture. He was by no means filthy rich, but he was comfortable. No longer active in the business, he still received checks large enough to pay the bills and had enough left over to allow for a few indulgences. Most of the time, he hung at the house when he wasn't partying it up on the weekends in Manhattan.
For the past eighteen months, on every Sunday and Wednesday, I'd stay at his place. Those were my two days off from work at the bar, while I put myself through school. I was determined to finish my degree in Interior Design.
Zach and I were very close. More like best friends than siblings, as we shared everything. For whatever reason, secrets didn't exist between us. Not even little white lies. There was just a brutal honesty and respect we had for each other that only the closest of friends typically experience. Perhaps it was because we were siblings we could behave this way, as I never even saw the closest of couples be so honest with each other.
One thing that made Zach much better to hang with than most guys was he wouldn't obsess over my tits. This, I assume, to us being siblings. It was just no big deal to us. My tits are huge, banana-shaped things. I suppose they're attractive, even if unusual, being way too big for my frame, but there wasn't much I could do about them. They'd likely be a big problem for me in the future.
It seems silly and it is, but it is almost impossible to hang out with people without them bringing up my tits at every opportunity, especially guys. Considering I was juggling school and work, I'd put guys out of my life anyway. I didn't have any close girlfriends, not since high school. Zach was pretty much my only outlet as a true friend and that was okay with me for now.
There's another reason I'm bringing up the subject of my tits. As much as I loathe them, I love them. They're sensitive to the touch and I find myself to be one with a lot of pent up sexual energy, especially considering my extended sabbatical from any relationships while I finish school. I'll get back to this later, once I tell you the rest of the story.
Something I loved about my brother was his sharp wit. He could crack sophomoric jokes and segue deep philosophical ideas into them at any given moment. He reminded me of a young George Carlin. Zach also crafted some of the most hilarious practical jokes. He had a knack for putting people in awkward situations.
A typical evening consisted of watching movies or talking world events. Zach would roll a joint to share and we'd hang out in the living room enjoying the time together, getting buzzed, laughing it up. It was a great stress reliever for me.
I rarely drink alcohol, as none appeal to my taste and I hate the inevitable hangovers. You'd think working in a bar would get one past that, but not me. Just a couple hits off a joint and the edge is completely gone. Zach really is a life saver to me this way, as my hectic work and school schedule came with a lot of stress.
As I mentioned before, my brother likes to prank people and one night, about three months ago, he jokingly said he was going to make me earn my dope, since he was the one always supplying. Little did I know he really meant it. I headed to his place soon after one night and as I approached the front door, I noticed a note taped to it that read:
If you want to smoke pot tonight, you must do the dishes.
You cannot discuss this or dispute this.
If you do, you will be made to go home immediately, no questions asked.
I snatched the note off the door and instinctively headed to the kitchen. There was a small pile of dirty dishes and a few smudgy glasses in the sink and on the counter. As I was about to go to the living room, Zach walked in from the hallway.
"What the hell is this all about?" I asked, holding the note up.
Zack took me by the arm and led me back to the front door.
"No discussions, no disputes, Alicia" he said. With that, he kicked me out. I knocked a few times, but finally got the message and headed home.
'What a bastard!' I thought, at first. 'How dare he?' It was the first time Zach had been mean to me in years.
The following Sunday I showed up again and noticed another note attached to the door. It read:
If you want to smoke pot, you have to vacuum the living room. No discussions. No disputes. You may of course choose not to vacuum but you will not be allowed to smoke pot.
I grabbed the note and walked in, heading straight for the hall closet. Ten minutes later, I finished vacuuming. Just the living room, as it didn't mention doing anything else and I was kind of angry that Zach would make me do this for pot when he could simply ask me to do it anytime. I certainly would have. He didn't have to put conditions on it.
Within weeks, however, I realized where Zach was going with this. His demands became more and more unique, some downright hilarious. Every time I showed up at his place, the request would be taped to the door with the same instructions about not speaking a word of it; simply doing it or not doing it. I'd only get to smoke pot if I followed through, though.
The tasks got sillier and sillier, and became a moniker to our awesome relationship. They went from mundane tasks to fun and memorable moments. Earning my dope wasn't such a bad thing, after all.
•If you want to smoke pot, you have to sing the National Anthem and upload it to YouTube.
•If you want to smoke pot, you have to crank call Aunt Tilda.
•If you want to smoke pot, you have to run outside and scream, "I love you, New York!" as loud as you can.
Once or twice, I did talk about the request at hand and was kicked out immediately. Zach followed through on the threat, always. Even if I was willing to do it but just wanted to talk about it first, Zach would kick me out. I either did them or I didn't. A couple times, even I was too embarrassed to follow through on a challenge and chose just to not mention it, and hang out without indulging in the devil's lettuce.
One notable request I refused was to knock on the neighbor's house and pretend to speak a foreign language, but it had to be complete nonsense, and make it appear I couldn't understand English. The goal was for them to allow me to use their bathroom. I couldn't work up the courage for such a ridiculous request, but truth be told, it would have been totally hilarious. Perhaps if Zach would have allowed me to smoke pot prior to the challenge would I have committed to it. Instead, I threw the paper in the garbage on my way in, didn't say a word about it, and just hung out with Zach for a couple hours while he smoked on the joint without sharing.
One night, Zach and I were hanging out, well after I had performed my task for that evening. I told you before Zach and I share everything. He knows I enjoy sex, but haven't gotten any in a while. I decided to share with him a personal problem I'd been experiencing. Something rather taboo, but Zach and I could handle anything.
So getting to my problem: My breasts have thick, dark nipples surrounded by areolas that cover almost half my flesh. They are just ridiculous in size. Unlike most girls with nipples so large, I think mine are far more sensitive than the average girl's. Maybe I'm wrong, but I doubt it.
Ever since I was 18, I would suck my nipples and lick my areolas when I masturbated, which was frequently, by the way. I was hooked to the tingling sensation it created.
Though Zach and I are close and I suppose I've mentioned in passing a thing or two about my tits, Zach has never actually seen them. I've never told him all about my masturbation habits, either, any more than he me, but again, I knew he could listen to my problem, as it was my habit of sucking my breasts that led to this whole mess.
I began to explain the sensitivity issue of my breasts to Zach and my rather embarrassing habit of playing with them... often.
"Go on," Zach said.
"Well, last month, as I was sucking a nipple, breast milk started to come out. Lots of it."
"Really?"
"Yes, really," I said. "And it's gotten worse. I know I can't be pregnant. I'm not fat and I haven't had sex with anyone in over a year. Besides, I went to the doctor about it."
