Notice: All ye censors, perverts, and oddballs - no one under 18 years of age did anything sexual to anyone in this story. They didn't in the original version either, but apparently there were ways to read between the lines and think that they did.
*
A little about us before I get on with this story: we are twins, Cinnamon and I. We were born late in the spring, so by the time we were getting out of high school, we were well over 18. Such is the way things were. My name is Dave. Why our parents came up with the name Cinnamon for my sister is anyone's guess, but they, my parents, always said it was just a "cute" name. I was always grateful they didn't come up with some "cute" dumb-ass name for me! Had she been anything but as good-looking as she was, she might have taken a lot of grief over it, and in fact, I'm sure she took a ribbing about her name to some extent; you know how kids are in school.
In our senior year, we both had dates both got laid. How do I know she did? Ha! She was dumb enough to get caught stark naked with her boyfriend-of-the-moment (also in the buff) between her legs in her bedroom one day not too long before we graduated from high school. Yes, all were over eighteen by then, so it was perfectly legal - except in the eyes of our parents, I came home one day, figured out what was going on, and spent a few minutes watching them through the door that they hadn't bothered to close all the way. I assume the passion was too great and they had thrown caution to the wind - not one of their better ideas - and just jumped on each other without locking the door, let alone actually making sure it was even closed.
The door was hinged on the right, and as you went into her bedroom her bed was on the wall to the immediate left. So, without it being very far open at all, I had what might be called a ringside seat. I got a little engrossed in watching, being the voyeur that I am, and before I realized they were home, and before I could warn Cinnamon and her dearly beloved, our parents showed up at her door. Talk about your parents going ballistic and coitus interruptus! Nothing will screw up a nice passionate fuck like your mommy and daddy showing up as your boyfriend is slipping you the bone and you are both at the point where he about to unload some of his hot creamy genetic material into your hot wet, and about to start throbbing, little pussy. I guess they thought she was an innocent little virgin. Wrong! I was pretty sure, beyond any reasonable doubt as lawyers like to say, she wasn't, but this fun little incident put to rest any doubt I might have had.
Anyway, our parents were blaming the boyfriend (yea, like Cinnamon had nothing to do with it) - who was hopping around trying to get his pants and shirt on at the same time. Cinnamon was in there somewhere trying just as desperately to get her clothes back on. I thought the yelling and screaming was hysterical; I was laughing my ass off. Meanwhile, Cinnamon and her hapless boyfriend (who now wasn't the least bit hard) were trying desperately to get dressed and he, of course, was trying to get out of the house as fast as possible. By the time it was all over, my sides hurt from laughing. My parents turned to me and told me it wasn't funny, which did nothing but set me off again. No, it wasn't funny, it was hysterical! I never did understand what all the ruckus was about; they were both over eighteen.
Okay, so now we leap ahead a few years. After I graduated from high school I joined the Navy. I was under the fey impression that there would be a girl in every port. While I had heard of something called a "home port," where a ship spends much of its time, I never thought of the impact of that on my sex life. These "home ports" are also in what are often called "navy towns." Unfortunately, the girls in those navy towns knew better than to date sailors. Sailors are on ships and the ships go to sea - the girl doesn't get to see said sailor when the ship is at sea. For some unknown reason, they really took exception to that. If a girl married a sailor and his ship took off for a cruise of the western Pacific (or the eastern Atlantic for that matter), she became known as a West Pac Widow (in the Atlantic they were probably called something else obviously, but I was in the Pacific fleet). What the West Pac Widows did for entertainment for the six months or so while her sailor was at sea is a whole nuther story - but then so are the shenanigans the sailors did in those foreign ports. And as for the other ports we visited, we were never there long enough to even think about starting a relationship with a girl beyond a one-night stand. I mean really, what's she supposed to do, be true to you and wait for you to come back in six months - for another day or two? I did my four years, had no regrets, got out, and started college.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Cinnamon got though four years of college, got a bachelor's in political science, which I figured was about useless unless you want to be a politician, in which case a degree in graft would be more appropriate, and got a job working at some place where she couldn't exactly describe the job and couldn't talk about what she did there. Now that sounds real political sciencey doesn't it? Then as it turns out, the place is owned by some government agency that everyone seemed to think didn't exist (more political science I'm sure). Don't get me wrong, she seemed to like the job just fine - she just couldn't talk about it and disappeared every now and then on "business trips" to parts unknown for a few days. For some reason, she was always just one step from poverty. I really had to wonder what this company paid her or what the attraction was for the lack of a paycheck to keep her there - either that or she was more of a miser than anyone I had ever met or even heard of. Most people manage to turn a profit on a business trip - not her. "Hide the hat" was apparently a foreign concept. There were days when I thought her trips were "pro bono publico" - seriously!
To make things worse, she had married the king of the dipshits and got divorced a little after I started college. Neither one of them was worth a plug nickel, so that made the divorce a lot easier. I could never figure it out; why do girls who look like Cinnamon marry guys who have the looks and IQ of Elmer Fudd? Fortunately for her, she didn't have any kids. Having rug rats always makes for messy divorces. So, what does she do? Moves in with me! Yea, just what I needed. I'm trying (not terribly successfully) to put the moves on a few college girls and I have a sister for a roomie. It was, however, good timing as my male roomie had just moved out to move in with his girlfriend - at least I would get some sleep; Christ was that little bitch ever a moaner! More than one person in that apartment complex had complained about the noise that little minx made when she was getting laid - talk about building you man's ego! She had a set of lungs on her, and I don't mean the tits, though they were quite an impressive pair too - and real too. Or so my buddy said - I never got to check that out in person.
Back to my sister; at least she was able to kick in a few bucks for the rent. Okay, she wasn't thrilled at being there either, but it was better than being at home and she couldn't afford a place of her own. At least she could cook and we ate well. That beat the hell out of those frozen meals I had been burning for myself and a lot cheaper than either eating out or getting food to go. There were advantages to having her around, though a live in girlfriend would have been better. I just wasn't doing so well in the girlfriend department.
One Wednesday evening after a date that had gone about like they usually do, I was sprawled on the couch and on the phone complaining to my ex-roomie that I was getting horny as hell and that yet another date hadn't had any interest in putting out. Yes, I had a long history of dates that didn't feel like going to bed with me. Oh, one did now and then, but the statistics were heavily skewed toward the "not tonight" bunch. Not that I went on dates just for sex - I didn't - but it would have been nice if now and then I could find a girl who was a horny as I was. Unbeknownst to me, my sister had overheard the entire conversation - at least my end of it.
"How was the date Davey? Get any?" she asked casually and with a bit of smirk after I got off the phone. She was walking back and forth in front of the coffee table and sipping on a Coke. She still had on the tight fitting dark green dress that she had worn to work. She must have really turned a few heads at work. Never mind those kids who used to jack off thinking about touching her hot little body when we were in high school, these days those guys in the office must be jacking off thinking about her and what she would be like in bed - or more like it, bent over their desks.
Looking at her for a few seconds, I realized there was scant difference between her body and looks and that lovely little thing - who wouldn't put out - I had dated earlier this evening. "Lovely, and I didn't. She got me hot as hell, danced with me like she was in heat, talk about dirty dancing, and at the end of the evening, all I got was a kiss good night." I didn't want to sound like this lovely date owed me anything in that regard, so I didn't mention that she didn't drink cheap stuff, and I damn near had to take out a loan to feed her. Nothing remotely close to fast food passed over her lips - ever. We had to go to a "real" restaurant, the kind where you had to have reservations (called in hours, and preferably days, ahead of time) and where a hostess with a stick up her ass tells you "James will seat you shortly." I should also point out that James seemed to have a stick up his ass too.
"Well, that's more than a handshake," she said with a giggle.
Yea, but if she had done that hand shaking thing a little lower, it would be called a hand job, and that would sure have been better than the kiss I did get, I thought. "Not by much, and come to think of it, maybe that was just the final tease." I was beginning to think she was rubbing it in, but what was the point? Maybe she had gotten laid tonight, but as far as I knew, she had never left the apartment and hadn't had anyone in here either.
"At least you had a date and therefore a chance at sex. I work in a large office and the only ones that have been hitting on me since the divorce are the real creeps. The ones I wouldn't mind taking to bed don't seem to be interested in me no matter how much I try to seem interested in them."
I guess she didn't get laid tonight. "You work in a pretty strange office with some pretty strange people. Try going in naked some day," I suggested a little sarcastically, not being in a particularly good mood. It had been an expensive date and in the end I hadn't gotten laid and I was horny as hell. Now I had my sister rubbing it in and telling me how little she was getting. If she wanted to get laid, all she had to do was walk into an expensive bar and have some fairly well off dude take her home that same evening. It doesn't work the other way around. Actually I tried that once. A little later I found out that it was a lesbian bar and the guys in there - weren't guys. That explains why I got absolutely nowhere with anyone there.
