Author's Note:
All characters are at least 18 in this story. There is incest and graphic sexual content, if that's not your thing, then you have been forewarned.
This story does not dive straight into the incest. There is some build up. If you are looking for a quick fix, this may not be the right choice. This is my first attempt at writing anything and I hope readers enjoy it. Constructive feedback is appreciated. Special Thanks to Cliffhangingtom for providing valuable feedback. This is a fairly long story, at least five parts, but it is 99% completed at the time of this writing. You will not be left with an unfinished story. I plan to upload the remaining parts of the story soon.
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Part One.
I dragged the thin brush handle jaggedly across the canvas, leaving behind a rough gash of red on the black background. I then went to work on elaborately highlighting the areas of red that I wanted to appear more strongly and blending the ones I wanted to fade. The song pounding in my headphones helping elicit the image I was working on from my mind's eye. Some of the lyrics stuck in my head on a loop, even though the song kept going.
"You cry out in your sleep
All my failings exposed
And there's a taste in my mouth
As desperation takes hold "
This happened sometimes when I was painting, and focusing on snippets of lines that resonated with me just added to the mood I hoped to convey. I had no lofty illusions about the paintings I created. I wasn't pretentious about it and didn't try to convince people there was some deep meaning associated with them about the evils of society or any of that other shit that the local art community tried to tack onto each others' work. The artwork I produced was primarily abstract images. Collections of textures, swirls, and shadows that I hoped, at best, made someone have some sort of emotional response to. At worst, I hoped that they would think they were somewhat interesting. If they got something else from it than what I had tried to convey, then so be it. It didn't matter to me at all. I created art simply because I enjoyed it and I always had from the time I was a child. It was somewhat cathartic for me, and I was at my most productive with it when some heartbreak or tension entered my life. I didn't care much about making money with it and I wasn't foolish enough to believe that I was going to make a living as an artist.
I was 20 years old, midway through my second year of college when I dropped out for the semester in complete frustration with the art program. Unsure what else to do with my life for the moment, I was dividing my time between painting on my own and working at a local mom and pop music store that was barely hanging on. The recent popularity surge of vinyl sales were proving to be it's saving grace. I planned to return to college in the Fall, but was unsure if I would continue with the visual arts program or settle into something infinitely more boring.
I switched brushes and continued blending crimson orbs out of the black background, applying layer after layer of red on the canvas. It usually took multiple layers, but the finished effect really did look like the image was rising from the depths of the background. An unexpected hand on my shoulder broke my concentration and startled me so much that I almost dropped the plate I was using as a pallet.
"Dinner's ready, jackass." My sister smirked down at me where I was crouched, her dark hair falling down past her shoulders.
"Christ, Amy." I pulled the earbuds from my ears. "You scared the shit out of me."
"That explains the smell in here." She replied, looking pleased with herself.
"I'll be down in a few minutes, just need to clean this up real quick." I rolled my eyes at her quip and began rinsing off the brushes I'd used.
She turned and walked to the doorway. I instinctively glanced up at her ass as she walked away. In my mind, I fell to my knees and praised the heavens every day for whoever invented yoga pants. Even though her shirt was long enough to cover most of her shapely butt, I could see the lower half of it peek out with every step. I wasn't one to ogle every female form that moved, but an incredible ass was an incredible ass. My sister had one, and I suspected she knew it. I was always aware that she was my sister and felt appropriately guilty for even noticing. I knew I shouldn't have. But this was purely that male instinct, whatever old remnants of our lizard brains that just would not let us not notice a great ass. I stared longer than I intended to, as I reflected on my lizard brain, and suddenly realized the ass had left the room. I was staring at an empty doorway. Chastising myself, I shook my head.
I went to the bathroom and washed up, making sure I didn't get paint all over the dining room table. My mother didn't have a sense of humor about those sorts of things. I looked in the mirror and realized how tired I looked. I stood around 5'9" with short, dark brown hair that was nearly black, light brown eyes, and a slender build. I wasn't athletic in the traditional sense, but years of skateboarding had kept me in reasonably good shape. It had also left me with a variety of small scars from falls and a bad knee that was occasionally starting to give me trouble. I sighed and headed downstairs for dinner.
Mom handed me a plate of food and I settled in at the dining table to eat. Amy sat across from me, tinkering with her phone as she chewed. I could only assume she was texting with her dickhead boyfriend, Jeff. I had known about Jeff by reputation around campus and he struck me as a shady asshole, hence me calling him a dickhead. But, to be fair, he had been alright to my sister in the month or so they'd been going out. That didn't mean I had to like him, but what she did was her business. My dad ate in the living room in front of the TV, watching a football game. I briefly pondered why I'd been born without whatever gene it was that made sports interesting to people. Unless you considered skateboarding to be a sport, I never had any use for them, myself. I wondered sometimes if my father would have taken more interest in my life if I were a sports nut like himself, but it didn't particularly bother me that he didn't by the time I had reached high school. He showered attention on my sister whenever she had any kind of school activity going on, which made it painfully obvious who was the favored child.
A few minutes into the meal, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Megan. "Hey, here's that album you asked about." The messaged was accompanied by a link. I smiled and clicked the link to download it.
"Thanks, Meg. I really appreciate it." I sent back.
A few moments passed. "How much did you appreciate it?"
