How did we ever get to be such weird girls? My sister never had an answer, and, quite frankly, neither did I. We always accepted it as what was. While other girls might have been busy with boys, we developed our own interests. I guess you could call us...nerds, if only for our overactive imaginations.
At times, we had both expressed our dismay at the sheltered life we were forced by our father to lead. Perhaps it was for his lack of wife, but he felt our protection was his top priority. We were a lucky find, the two of us: both put up for adoption by separate, yet no less anonymous mothers. Our father was confused. Until he saw the papers, he was sure we were already sisters (no shame on him though. Everyone else thinks it too). What birthright had not aligned, he sought to align. He swiftly put in to adopt us both, and, once the paperwork was through, we lived as sisters would, getting along, watching each other's backs, gossiping, and even sharing some... interesting... secrets in the darkened quiet of our room whilst our father slumbered.
I had always relished our heart-to-hearts in the thick silence of the night. We had shared what little experiences we were afforded the chance to have. Since we had been kept in close tether to our father, these were limited to giggle-rife 'what-if...' questions, which were always dismissed with a rehearsed "dad would be furious!" If it weren't for dad, I'm relatively sure we could have had some male contact. I'm about 5'3" with medium blonde hair, and a pretty sizable bust. My waist isn't wasp thin, but you could distinguish that I kept pretty healthy. My sister, Tiffany was only about an inch shorter than me, and wore her hair a smidge longer, but she was a tad thinner. But I still wouldn't trade my jugs for her slimmer figure.
Now, my sister and I were all but done with our teen years, both of busily us cleaning up our 18th birthday party. As I pulled down the gaudy "Happy 18th, Jess and Tiff!" banner, Tiffany snuck up beside me and jump-hugged me.
"Shit, Tiff," I exclaimed, as I twisted to keep my balance with my sister on my back, eventually falling to the floor, wrapped up tight in the banner. Tiffany, who had managed to dismount before the tumble, snickered at my misfortune. "Don't do that! Damn, this morning would go a whole lot smoother if you'd lend a hand."
"Why so on edge, Jess? Oh sob, oh cry, my name's Jessica Langley, and I have to do work! Don't get your panties in a bunch, sis. I'll help you out."
"In a bunch? What an old expression. Let's not jump to conclusions about such things, dearest sister. Go and fetch a bin, will you?" How sheltered is this girl? It's been at least two years since I wore panties bulky enough to bunch up. Except for that one pair of silk ones. Boy, when they bunched up in the front, and rubbed up in between my...
"Kchh, Squad Jess, this is Command, where is your brain? Give us a sit-rep, over, kchh" Tiffany mocked, speaking into the large rubbish bin she had brought to create an impressive COD4 reference.
"Wha, huh? Oh, sorry sis, I was miles away."
"Clearly. Now let's go. Upstairs is even messier than down here. The girls left a whole load of crap on the floor."
And so we progressed through the living room, picking up garbage, and straightening up the rooms on our sojourn towards our bedroom. In our minds we were a two-girl fellowship (myself, Jessica the Unscathed, and my shield-sister Tiffany, Defender of House Langley) stemming the hordes of Fiends, Uruk-hai, and all other manner of dark-spawn; fighting back-to-back in a vengeful retreat to the sanctuary of Bedrooms Deep. In reality, we were two semi-nerdy girls pressed into each other's backsides as we picked up trash on the way to our room.
If it hasn't been made obvious thus far, my sister and I are kind of nerds. The sheltered existence at the hands of our father drove us to this lifestyle. We were always fans of most videogames, and fantasy lore. It showed in our everyday tasks, even the least epic (like cleaning up after a sleepover for example!).
It was as our small fellowship was almost defeated, nearly overwhelmed, on our last gasp, that everything paused; both the trash and the two of us looked around for the source of the loud thuds. It came from below. Our father's footsteps; Drums in the Deep. "Girls, enough of this," our father declared as he surmounted the Endless Stair. "Now, this job is easy, and I expected it to be done hours ago. Now get the anchors out of your pants!" With this, our fantasy ended. We were put into full retreat, and went about our duties.
"Dad actually had a good idea there," I mused. As the room was getting warmer from our bustling activity, I decided to put his advice into action, and change pants.
"Oh ho! Well, I don't see any anchors, just an ass. A nice one at that," Tiffany commented, (perhaps) feigning interest. I responded by pulling the tight pants up my legs till they pushed my ass up and together. What happened next surprised me, and continues to do so.
*Smack!* I heard it before I felt it, responding with a small yelp. My sister had just smacked my ass. "Put that thing away, girl. You're making me jealous," she said, laughing.
"Oh come on. What's there to be jealous about? This barge?"
"Don't belittle yourself, sis. I wish I had one like yours. Nicely sized, but strong too; not saggy."
"Tha...Thank you, Tiff." It was the first really honest compliment she had made about my body. As my thoughts drifted back to cleaning, I felt the delayed slight stinging in my butt. It was only a short crack on the right cheek, but it was enough to last. The feeling was weird... Almost tingly more than stinging. The sensation started to spread as time went on, but I forced myself to focus just before it grazed my...
"Are you daydreaming again? We're gonna get it if this room isn't clean soon. There'll be time to space out later, come on," Tiffany urged, ushering me over to the loose piles of magazines we had flipped through at the party.
*******************
Most of the magazines were legitimate stuff, but, being girls our age, the two of us and our guests had other things on our minds. We flipped idly through, calling attention as a group to certain pictures of men we thought to be particularly hot. Suave hair, check. Chiseled face with body to match, check. Gratuitous oiling of rippling muscles in a slightly but not too provocative pose, check plus!
However, one picture in particular caught my attention. It detailed a young man and who was presumably his girlfriend outside what appeared to be a movie theatre. The marquee proclaimed a cliché romance movie title, and the two figures were close. Very close. Their bodies seemed to wrap into one as they embraced and shared a passionate kiss.
Passion. That was what this photo was about. The models seemed to be lost in each other, not even aware that a camera and lighting crew sullied their mood. They weren't performing for an audience. Not trying to sell anything. No James Brown kneeling and draped in a cape. This was Marvin Gaye singing the national anthem at the '83 all star game. Singing for the sheer soul of it. Standing plain and candid. Doing what one feels. Trapped in each other and yet so free of troubles. We cannot get out--we do not want to. Drums in the Deep.
That time, however, the drums of the deep belonged not to my father's lumbering steps, but to my own heart. This was it. What I had been searching for. More arousing than any lewd pornography. This was pure. Pure as dad might ever allow.
Noticing my awkward pause at this photo, the others around me had grown restless. Why did she stop at this one? He's got all his clothes on? I eventually noticed the silence, and laughed it off, saying something made-up on the spot, like "Oh, I think I saw that movie too," or some other distraction. Stupid me.
******************
Now able to take my time to examine this photo, I realized something even more confusing than my feelings the night before. It was the girl in the picture. Fair complexion, about my height, Blonde hair, a frame like mine but thinner... "Tiffany!"
"What's going on," called Tiffany from below her bed, still cleaning, "has education finally been cut all together? That's the only reason I voted Torie."
"Oh, uh, nothing. Just..." looking down to the magazine, "wanted to tell you I'm headed for the toilet. Keep working."
