(Note: The characters and the relationship between them is purely a work of fiction, though the broken air conditioner was a reality once. It was the inspiration for this story.)
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The damn air conditioner was broken... again. For two years it had been broken, then fixed barely six months ago. But when you have air -sweet, wonderful, cool air- every single day, you forget about the hard times. Especially when you're so busy you wake up at 6 a.m., go to bed at or around midnight, and are asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow. You don't even think about the air. It's just there. Then one day the air handler -whatever the hell that is- breaks, and off goes the air. Middle of summer in Florida, in a new house where the trees have been cleared so there's not even shade from that.
It was absolutely miserable.
After coming home from work, Chrissy had stood in the shower for an hour, the spray hard, the water as cold as she could bear it. She'd had her relaxation music playing loud, her cat curled on the bathroom rug napping, and her new bottle of Body Wash -a gift from her cousin when she had visited France. It smelled like her aunts Sangria, and made her feel smooth as a seal.
Now, nearly four hours later, Chrissy had forgotten how pleasant the shower had been, and was stewing in both annoyance and sweat. In defense she had said her good nights to her parents, and asked them not to disturb her. Then she stripped. It was too damn hot to be wearing clothing. She had been wearing her bathingsuit after she got out of the shower, cause it was the least bit of decent clothing she had. But now that the house was quiet, and her parents were in bed, she figured she might as well.
Her sigh of pleasure filled the space as her damp bikini flew across the room. Her black cat lifted its head, glanced in the direction of the brightly colored clothes, and then went back to its paws. It watched Chrissy closely.
Chrissy turned her fan on High, adjusted the aim to hit the middle of her bed, and wrestled the tall thing closer. Then she looked at her cat -sprawled in the middle, half under, half sticking out of the comforter, and smiled. She knew that look.
"Does kitty want to play?" she asked the cat. In response, the feline stretched out, back arching, tail curling, paws flexing, and looked up at her master with huge, luminous yellow eyes. Her black coat was as sleek as polished ebony. Then her tail began to lash in playful anticipation. Chrissy grinned and attacked.
They played for several minutes, with Chrissy perched on the edge of the bed, her butt sticking in the air, the fan blowing cool on her exposed privates. It felt very good. Eventually though she grew tired and, with a last long, slow stroke from the cats head to its tail, Chrissy began to fix her bed. God she was tired. She was always so tired. So tired now she had no time to draw anymore. No time to watch her favorite movies once in a while. No time for anything.
Not even sex.
She sighed heavily and bent to adjust the sheet. It was just a tad too big for the mattress, so it slipped off the corners little by little throughout the night. But in the morning she had no time to fix it, so she waited until bedtime. Leaning far over the mattress, one hand braced on the headboard, she tugged and stuffed and smoothed out the wrinkles on one end, then shifted and worked on the other end.
It was while she was bent over, completely exposed, that her bedroom door opened. She froze, and stared down at one of the patterned flowers on the sheet in dread. She couldn't seem to move.
Someone was watching her. She closed her eyes and prayed that it was her mother -please let it be my mother and not my step-father!- but the person said nothing, so, taking a deep breath, Chrissy rose to a standing position, and slowly turned around. She gasped when she saw her step-brother standing there, his eyes bulging in shock or surprise, perhaps even horror, his hand clutching the doorknob. His gaze was riveted to her crotch, and he stood utterly still.
Dear GOD, thought Sebastian. What an ass! He'd always known she had a huge ass -it was hard to miss! As children he'd teased her by calling her shaquitta booty when she hit puberty and everything just started to grow. But he'd never seen it bare -she was always a very private kid, careful and thoughtful. There had never been any embarrassing shower incidents, no dares, no accidental bathing suit losage. Nothing that had revealed any part of her body to him. Not that he had cared. On the contrary. He never thought about it. Sure, he'd admired her figure as it filled out into that of a very voluptuous woman, even cracked jokes with some of his buddies and defended her too, but that was it. He'd gone off to college, had had girlfriend after girlfriend, and had been home only for holidays. He and Chrissy never saw one another. Then he graduated -Cum Laude- and moved into a small duplex a few blocks away from his parents house. He visited them often, but Chrissy was never home. According to their parents, she worked from 7 a.m. to 8 p.m., got home, did a couple hours of her Home School course in art, and then went to bed. She rarely went out with friends, and had no boyfriends that any of them knew of. Sebastian admired her for it -God knew he understood having to prove oneself. But damn, she had no life. And damn, had she grown up.
Sebastian swallowed and flexed his hand on the now warm doorknob. He couldn't take his eyes off her pubic hair. It was thick and dark -far darker than he would have suspected for a strawberry blonde. And curly. Lord it looked curly. His palms began to sweat. He bet those dark little curls would just wrap around his fingers and hold him against the warmth. Then Chrissy cleared her throat; but instead of snapping Sebastian out of his daze, it drew his attention to her breasts.
He was shocked anew.
