I'm not what most people would describe as typical, or normal for that matter. My almost six foot frame has a few extra pounds but I'm not fat. My fine blonde hair has long given way to the dyed black color it is now, sometimes streaked with any color I can boost from the store. One week it's green, the next it's blue. This week it's purple. My nails have to be black and my make-up has to be overdone. I lighten the naturally light skin-tone of my face to directly contrast with the black eyeliner I apply way too liberally. I get asked all the time if the way I look keeps the guys away. If it does, my 36D "girls" make up for it. I long ago stopped wearing a bra, or any type underwear for that matter, and the natural bounce in my step caused by the black Belleville army boots I wear seems to draw guys to me (or them) like a moth to a street light.
On the other hand, Jeff is one of those guys. You know the type. Standing well over six feet tall with washboard abdominal muscles covered by the smoothest skin and the lightest blonde hair, hauntingly deep blue eyes that seemed to change color with his mood, wide strong shoulders that made him look as tough as he is, and long, strong arms that seemed perfectly suited for holding the female body. He always smelled intoxicating, whether he was wearing the best cologne or if he just got done playing basketball for hours. Then there is his face. Oh my God, his face. The word 'handsome" would be jealous looking at him. Everything was in perfect proportion and placement, nothing too big or too small. All of this was framed with the most beautiful, shoulder-length blonde hair. He was a living, breathing god. I have seen women walk into parking meters when they passed him on the street. Any woman, and I do mean any woman, young or old, would give anything to be with him, some to just be near him. The great thing about this is that I'm one of those lucky women. The bad thing is that Jeff is my brother. The strange thing is that I didn't notice any of this about him until the beginning of the summer.
Growing up we paid little attention to one another. Let's just say our social circles never crossed. He was the jock that lettered in 4 sports. I was the first girl in high school to get my lip and tongue pierced. He was the class President. I won every rainbow party I went to. He earned a 4.0 GPA. I had to fuck the math teacher to prevent me being held back. He got a full scholarship to an Ivy League university. I got turned down at the local Community College. The only time he had ever seen the inside of a jail is when he came with our parents to get me out. We were so polar opposite that it was laughable. Even mom had trouble believing we were twins and she gave birth to us, 2 minutes apart, almost 19 years ago. Yes, you read that right. Jeff is my twin and to make matters worse, I'm the oldest.
It had gotten to the point that the only time we seemed to talk was him asking me how many different guys I had that week or when I asked him when he was going to get some pussy from that stuck-up, snobby, cheerleader bitch that he had been dating for over a year. He used to say that he was "saving" himself for his wife and I told him that if I only had one that week, it was more than he had in his entire life. These little barbs were our way of communicating. Somewhere deep inside we loved each other though on the surface you couldn't tell.
My friends were the first to notice Jeff. They started asking me questions about him. They asked if he was dating or what he did to keep himself so perfect. They started telling me that they would fuck him in a second even after I told them that he's a virgin and saving the jewels until he's married. My best friend told me that she could get him to change his mind. Somehow I doubted even her 34DD's could cause him to change his mind. I guess it was about this time that I started seeing Jeff for the incredibly handsome man he had become. Then the dreams started.
The first time I had a dream about him was right around Memorial Day. My dreams are usually mirrors of my life. Not quite roman orgies, but damn similar to them. That first dream about him was so real that I awoke in a sweat, my fingers dripping and my sheet soaked. Despite the content of the dream and the condition of me and my bed, I cursed myself for thinking this way. Why in the hell was I dreaming of a jock? I had never given them a first glance, let alone a second. He was the exact type of person that I was rebelling against. Mainstream society sucked and he embraced it with his conservative, ivy league attitude. I hated everything he represented. Why then were my fingers dripping, my bed wet from my ass to my knees and my nipples so hard they hurt? I passed it off as a weird dream but this wouldn't be the last time I had it. Practically every night, irregardless of how well I got screwed that particular day, I had the same dream, resulting in the same thing. Even though my days were spent no where near him, my nights were spent under him in my fantasy. It was then that I started noticing the things in him that I described earlier. I thought that I must be really wasted to be thinking of my own brother. Still, the dreams continued.
About mid-summer, I started noticing Jeff become even more distant than normal. Even the shots he took at my lifestyle stopped, though my shots at his didn't. His responses to mine became the same three words. "Fuck you, Jenni." Up until a few weeks earlier, the only time I ever heard him say anything near that caustic was when he broke his arm in our junior year of high school, and even then it was one time. I knew something was up, not that I really gave a shit, or at least I tried convincing myself that I didn't. What finally convinced me that Jeff was different was when he, for the first time ever, turned down our parent's invitation to go hiking in the mountains. He loved to hike. To pass this up is like asking a rich person to give up money. Jeff even raised his voice to mom when she questioned his not wanting to go, which is also a first for him.
The night of our parents heading off to their mountainous nirvana, I came home to an apparently empty house. The wicked side of me thought for a minute that he had changed his mind and was using the absence of the parental units to finally blow some seed into the Barbie doll he had been dating. I thought I would try to find out if I was right but when I walked down the hall, Jeff's door was wide open. Still hoping he forgot to close it I peeked in, but the room was empty. That's when I heard someone dive into our pool. Being the bitch I love to be, I walked outside hoping to find them doing something so I could break it up, but I saw only Jeff floating on his back in the center of the pool. I walked over to the brick edge of the shallow end. "Hey Tard!" I yelled, using one of a string of names that I knew he hated being called.
"Go away, Jenni. I've had all I can take of you bitches this week."
Why I didn't tell him to piss off and go back in the house like I normally would I'll never know. Something in his voice struck a chord in me that for some reason made me feel bad for him. What I said next is so much out-of-character for me that I wondered where it was coming from, even as I was saying it.
"Are you ok, Jeff?"
"Why do you care? You'll just throw some stupid-ass wisecrack and tell me to grow some balls like you always do." For the first time in a long time, I felt bad. He was right. Up until he said that, I was planning on doing exactly what he thought I would do.
"I don't know why I care, but for some reason I do."
Jeff opened his eyes to study me. I guess he saw something different in me.
"Jen, can we talk? I really need to ask you something." he said, his eyes seemed so sad and distant, something I wasn't used to seeing in him. "Why not go get your suit on and get in. This might take a while."
I agreed, thinking to myself how confused he must be to be asking me, of all people, for advice. I got all the way to my room before I remembered that I didn't own anything remotely close to a swim suit. I rarely went in the water because the chlorine took out the color I put in my hair. So I put on the closest thing I had that could pass for swim wear, a pair of lime green boxers that one of my "friends" left as a souvenir and a yellow Slipknot T-shirt. Even I would never be caught wearing those in public. Jeff, on the other hand, didn't even notice. He was back floating with his eyes closed, but had drifted to the deep end. I took the opportunity to jump in right beside him, cannonball style. When I resurfaced, Jeff was hacking like a three pack a day smoker, exactly the effect I was going for. After he flushed the water from his lungs, he said nothing, going back to quietly floating.
"What's wrong Jeff? Is it her? Are you fighting?" I said, unable to remember her name, mostly from my not caring what it was. I thought I might be right, judging by the general dislike of women in general he was having.
"No, we're not fighting, we broke up." That was the last thing I expected to hear. Even though I liked her about as much as flies like Raid, I really thought that the next wedding invitation I would get would be theirs.
"No shit!? Damn Jeff, what happened?"
"You're not going to believe this one."
"Jeff, look at me, I have black and purple hair and a yellow and green suit on. Why would you think I wouldn't believe you?" He glanced my way and grunted what passed for a laugh.
