The Fair Thing to Do

Part two of an erotic story between a brother and sister. The brother believes he should have the same sexual and bodily right as his sister.

*****

She didn't really know what to expect. And deep down she didn't really know why she was doing it.

Something about her brothers passive/aggressive behavior. On one hand he was bold and brazen to have the head of penis sticking out of his sweats. And he was bold and brazen enough to defend it.

On the other hand he didn't push it any further. And he didn't say anything to go to the next level. He was all male, but on this issue he seemed sexually content.

And that was the word. Content. For some reason she wasn't. But she was a bit lost on what she wanted. More. But more of what?

His body? His penis? To see it? She still fantasized about touching the tip. But that wasn't what was gnawing at her.

It was him. Maybe. Himself. Maybe she didn't like how he was passive after being aggressive. Like he got the last word. Like he was blowing her off. Like he was superior.

So that is why she thinks she decided to sunbath in her bikini. To see if it'd provoke a reaction.

It didn't.

He ignored her.

Totally.

Utterly.

So in utter annoyance she asked him straight out. "Eric, so if you feel right in sticking the head of your penis out because of a woman's cleavage, would you feel right in wearing a shirt with no pants because of a bikini?"

"I think so." He said is passively, which only increased her annoyance.

In a moment of showing too many of her cards, she went out on a plank, "So how come you didn't drop your sweats when you saw me in a bikini?"

He looked up perplexed, "I don't let my penis out because you." He emphasized the word "you" heavily, with an edge of contempt. "No, I do it because women have ways of being sexual that I want too. Nothing more."

She was taken back. Not at his words, but at her gall and then failure. She felt stupid and small and immature.

Then he dropped the bomb of bombs. "Is that what you want? Because it's something I would really like to do. Just as you like the sexiness of wearing a bikini, I like the sexiness of not wearing below my waist. You see, you just do it. You can. You just walk into your room and put on a bikini. I can't do that. So say the word, say it, that I too have the same rights as you. That I can walk into my room and remove my sweats and come back out and go about my business. Can you say it? Can you give me that right? Can you?"

She had misread him. Significantly.

She had somehow made it personal. As if he had a relational interest in this.

She was taken back. Hurt. Offended. He had been blunt. Awfully blunt.

But his question hung in the air and she was on the spot to answer it.

Most of her wanted to simply turn around and walk away, and let her hurt feelings heal.

But part of her wanted to stand tall.

He was, quite clearly, calling her bluff.

If she said yes, then who knows what doors that would open.

If she balked he'd have more reason for his contempt.

She was caught. And she didn't like it.

"Yes. Do it." The words flung out of her mouth. They were not words of invitation, but words of pride. She didn't want to back down. She didn't want to be yet another feminine snob.

"You now have the same exact right as me. Go ahead. Show a lot of sensual skin. If I can do it. You can now do it." There she had said it. All of it. It was out. She done with the conversation. And she regretted all of it.

He apparently was done with the conversation too. He said thanks in a non-emotional way and walked past her.

When she heard his door shut she realized what she had done. At that very moment he was stepping out of his sweats. And in a moment he'd come back out the door wearing nothing below his shirt.

And she'd see all of him. All of it. Every part of it. Exposed. Open. Hanging loose. Maybe hanging erect.

She felt panic.

And sure enough he walked right back out of his room. Right past her. Right back to the couch. And right back to his phone.

She watched his little butt walk past her.

She stood a moment and then retreated to her room. And cried. And seethed. And replaying the whole conversation wishing she had chosen better words. Wishing she had better come-backs.

Eventually she came out. He was still on the couch. Still on his phone.

And naked below the waist. Limp. Hairy.

She headed for the kitchen and stopped cold at the fridge.

She caught herself. She kinda liked the look.

His passive nakedness was kind of exhilarating. The room, the house felt different. Energized. Alive. She surprisingly liked it.