It was late at night when I got the text from my Mom that my little sister had been arrested again. She was 18 and fresh out of high school, and she absolutely refused to stay out of trouble. I didn't know the full story, or really care to be honest, but I heard bits and pieces of info from my parents as the situation had escalated.
She had been having trouble in her last year at school, and barely graduated. She was hanging out with the wrong crowd, and got picked up more than once for stealing petty shit from gas stations and convenience stores. She was constantly defying my parents, and it resulted in them taking her to some psychologist and getting diagnosed with a list of disorders.
About a week after the late night text I drove by my parents' house to make an appearance and try to talk to my sister. Upon arrival I found her crying in the living room, sitting with my parents. It was explained to me that her last arrest ended with her being sentenced to a year of house arrest, with an ankle monitor on top of it. She was inconsolable, and wouldn't even look at me when I tried to comfort her.
My dad took me aside and explained that she was extra upset about not being able to see her friends or go to the beach anymore, and that she had told them repeatedly that she hated them and hated being at home.
We all hung out for the next few hours, but my sister spent most of the time in her room, crying. When I had a moment alone I made my way to the kitchen and found all of her court documents spread out on the table. My normal apathy subsided at the chance to snoop, and I quickly scanned over the pages. It looked like the judge had been extra harsh in his sentencing, but I discovered that her arrest record was more extensive than I knew.
Mixed in with the papers was an email from the psychologist to my parents. It described a long list of issues, and among them were ADD, bipolar disorder, and hypersexuality. I gawked at that last one, and made a mental note to google it later.
One of the last papers I read was information about alternative housing for someone under house arrest. I guessed that my parents had asked if there were other alternatives, and it almost made me laugh out loud. Near the bottom of the page was a paragraph about how someone who volunteers to offer alternative housing would be eligible for compensation and the number was high enough to almost pay my rent. It only took a second to formulate a plan in my head. Normally I would sleep on a big decision like this, but the idea of living nearly rent free was too good to pass up.
I went to my sisters room and again tried to console her. She wasn't crying anymore, but her face was still red and swollen. I talked to her about how this isn't the end of the world, and that she needs to take her sentence seriously if she wants to eventually get rid of her ankle monitor. I hugged her and it was hard not to notice how pretty she turned out to be, she had definitely filled out since I moved out. She had died her long hair dark and looked a bit like a young Angelina Jolie, especially her lips.
I casually reminded her that the tiny house I rented was basically right on the beach, and that if she lived with me she likely could go there without setting off her monitor. Her eyes lit up, and she got more serious than I had ever seen her before.
"Would you really let me live with you?" she asked.
"Oh yeah, for sure," I nodded, "but you would have to follow my rules. I am definitely cooler than Mom and Dad, but that doesn't mean you can walk all over me."
She didn't even respond to me, she just bounded out of the room and went to beg our parents for permission to move in with me. I followed, and I could tell from the expression on our Dad's face that he was holding in his excitement. Our Mom took a little more convincing, but she eventually relented. Before leaving I confirmed with them that I would be happy to have her, as long as they could get permission from the court. We all agreed and I left, excited about the potential of the money I might get out of this.
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A few weeks later all of the paperwork was finialized, and my parents dropped my sister off in a uhaul with a few bags and pieces of furniture. She was wearing jeans and a tank top over a bikini, and I laughed at how eager she was to go down to the beach. Her ankle monitor was smaller than I expected, it was barely noticeable if you didn't know to look for it. Our parents looked frazzled and eager to be rid of her, but they both did tear up a bit. I consoled them and reminded them that it was for the best. I would keep her out of trouble and try to turn her attitude around. We got everything moved inside and they surprised my sister and I by having pizza delivered for a last minute family dinner. My sister was surprisingly cordial with them, but I guess she was just stoked about being able to get away.
After my parents left we set her things up and spent a few hours laying out by the beach. I thought she was pretty before, but seeing her in a bikini gave me an immediate hardon. She was way more stacked than I anticipated, and had an ass and big thighs that defied her tiny waist. I noticed a few small self harm scars, and that did nothing to calm down my dick. Looking back on my sexual history shows that I definitely have a thing for damaged girls.
When we got back inside I broke the happy mood and sat her down to lay out the house rules. First, no friends over without my consent. I work from home most days so I would be around most of the time to supervise her. Second, she can't break the rules of her ankle monitoring. Third, she needs to stay on her meds. She seemed embarrassed that I knew the details of her bipolar meds, and I let her know that I had to look at all of her info in order to sign all the paperwork. Lastly, just be chill. I reiterated to her that I was doing her a favor, and that if she didn't try to abuse the situation things were gonna work out great for both of us.
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The next couple weeks went by without too much incident. I kept a close eye on my weed and booze stores, but I never noticed anything being taken. Her friends came by a few times, but it seems like they were quickly bored of being tied to the beach near my house. We ended up spending more and more time together, but she seemed to grow more frustrated with her situation over time.
I noticed her spending more time in the bathroom, and one day I noticed a cucumber missing from the fridge. We are every meal together, so this was definitely curious to me. My mind went back to the word hypersexuality, and upon researching it seemed to me that it basically meant that she was a nympho. I have a pretty high sex drive, and I haven't been getting any since she moved in with me, so I could definitely empathize with her situation.
Later that day I brought it up with her. I probably could have been more sensitive, but I accidentally used the word nympho instead of hypersexual.
"Why are you talking about this with me?" she said as her face turned red and she looked away from me.
"Listen, it's chill, I just want to get it out in the open so you don't steal any more cucumbers, haha," I said to her. This didn't seem to make her feel more comfortable.
"Don't worry about it, everybody does it. Hell, I've been pretty frustrated about not getting laid since you've moved in. If you've been clinically diagnosed with being horny all the time I can't imagine what you're going through." I continued. "I'm here to help you out, there are better ways to get off than using a cucumber. Have you ever used any toys?"
She shook her head no without making eye contact.
"Look, I can tell that this is making you uncomfortable, but you can trust me. How about this: we don't have to talk about it, you can just pull up some links to toys that you might want and I'll order some for you," I offered to her.
She tentatively made eye contact with me but didn't say anything. I decided to just leave it there, I reached out and squeezed her shoulder gently, smiled and left her alone for the day.
