Infatuation Ch 03

Welcome one and all to the next part of my fascinating, captivating and highly titillating story. I hope you all remembered to bring your water bottles because things are about to get

hot

!

Okay, now I just sound like a cheesy strip club announcer, so I'll stop.

But I am glad to see you back. You must be

dying

to know what happens next with Jemma. I know I am, and I

lived

it! Curiosity may have killed the cat, but at least he went out in style. Not like those mice who have a metal bar clamped down over half their body while they're

still

trying to eat the damned piece of cheese. Morons.

Anyway, where were we? Oh, we haven't started yet. Well, let's do that now, shall we?

So I'd held Jemma in my arms. A less forgiving person might say fondled, or groped, but I'll stick with held. And I'd even gotten her to peck me on the lips before she literally kicked me out of her room. I was on a dizzy high all week, noticing somehow that my sister now appeared even

more

beautiful than she had pre-kiss. Can you seriously comprehend how perfect she is? She's just amazing! Just

amazing

! But

she

didn't want to hear that.

She

ignored me for about three whole days, even though I did everything I could think of to get her attention. I asked her what was on TV – she threw the guide at me; I asked her if she wanted me to make her a sandwich – she went out for lunch; I even offered to do all her chores, which she agreed to, but only with a shrug. She just wouldn't speak to me or even look at me.

But then I realised that the only way I'd ever gotten to her before was to be direct and aggressive. Not physically aggressive, mind you, just focused and determined to achieve my goal. And what was my goal this time? Buggered if I know; I just wanted to hold her again.

So that's exactly what I did. She was washing the dishes again, so I walked up behind her and, at first, put my hands on her shoulders and rested my chin on one of them as well. To my utter surprise, she didn't jump out of her skin – though that may have been because she was holding a large glass bowl in her hands. Her first reaction was actually to turn around and look at me, and then, seeing that my nose was only an inch away from hers, remove my head from her shoulder with a violent shrug. My teeth clattered together but I managed to suppress the yell I wanted so badly to utter.

"I'm just giving you a massage," I said, giving my bruised jaw one in the meantime.

"I don't want one," Jemma replied, as she continued to wash the bowl.

So I took a step forward and like a love-sick puppy that never learns, put my chin on her shoulder again and made a sound that expressed all my sadness and melancholy. This time, she didn't shrug me off.

"

What

are you doing?" she demanded, refusing to look at me this time, and simply continuing to wash the bowl.

"I don't know," I said in a muffled voice. "I just want to spend some time with you."

"Oh, like last time?" said Jemma.

"I'm sorry," I said, and found that I actually did feel sorry. My actions, I realised, were quite appalling, but I was thankful for the fact that they'd given me an opening of sorts, through which I could expand my relationship with my lovely sister.

At this point I felt bold enough to edge my fingers forward and rest them against Jemma's sides. She still had her gloved hands in the sink, so the only thing she could do to stop me was to twist her body to the side. "Jaaaames!" she admonished me.

"Oh, come on," I said, and tickled her sides a little. "I'm just giving you a hug."

And so I reached my arms right around her waist and pressed my chest against her back. Oh, what a blissful feeling. That was seriously better than masturbating – just holding this beautiful girl in my arms. Jemma twisted aside again, but then seemed to give up with a defeated sigh. I finally took my chin off her shoulder, swept her luscious hair aside and placed the

softest

kiss on her neck.

And do you know how purely excited I was when I felt her shake a little, and even gasp. That was it for me. That's when I knew that she felt something. Maybe not anything close to what I felt, but it was something, and I could appeal to that something. I had a good idea what it was though.

"You look so nice," I said, and then very slowly kissed my way up the side of her neck. She tried to roll her neck out of the way, but I just followed it with my mouth and planted more kisses.

Her skin smelled so fresh and invigorating, and it tasted just as good. I slowly started to add the pressure of my tongue to my kisses, until Jemma was telling me to stop again, albeit in a far from resolute voice. I lifted a hand up and with a single finger, moved the collar of her top back a bit so that I could kiss her shoulder.

I wanted to reach around and cup her breasts, or – at the insistence of my brain – press my cock against her ass. But that, I knew, was suicide, and so I refrained as best I could. But Jemma didn't know how hard I was, and so when she was once more attempting a light-hearted escape manoeuvre, she pushed back against my cock and couldn't fail to feel it. That's what jarred her awake and made her take her gloves off, I think.

"No more," she said sternly. Then she pulled the plug from the sink and walked away as the water started gurgling loudly down the drain. I felt lonely and unsatisfied, but also happier than I had in, well ... forever.

I thought about that incident all night. And I do mean

all

night, because while I slept for about five hours, I dreamt about it, and in my dream Jemma had turned around and kissed me. True, her gloves had sprung to life and strangled me as well, but she'd kissed me, so I could live with it.

The following morning I ran into Jemma right outside the bathroom. She was heading for the shower and I – ostensibly – was also heading for it. In truth, I was hoping to precipitate just such a rendezvous, so that I could talk to her again or, at the very least, see her. Our parents were downstairs, but they couldn't hear us talking.

"You look nice this morning," I said cheerfully. And she did indeed. She was wearing a pair of long-sleeved peach-coloured pyjamas, which I think she only donned in order to make it safely to the bathroom. I was pretty sure she slept in less than that.

Jemma narrowed her eyes at me. "What do you want?"

"I don't know," I said, and lightly tugged at her fingers. She just rolled her eyes and tried to get past me, but I reached out and put my arms around her waist. "Can't you just stay for a second?"

She was actually looking directly up into my eyes now, as though preparing to admonish me. "James," she said in a measured tone, "I need to take a shower. I'm going to be

late

."

But I wasn't listening anymore, because my face was buried somewhere in her neck, madly planting kisses all over her throat. "James!" she yelped, and tried to force my head away. At the same time she was staring down the hall in case we were interrupted.

"James, stop it!" she said, and writhed against the wall in an effort to pry my lips off her throat. But I didn't want to stop kissing her, and, like before, I knew she could do more to stop me if she really wanted to.

"Jaaames," she pleaded, but that only succeeded in encouraging me. "Stop it," she said. "Mom and dad might see."

But I ignored her (although not by choice; I would willingly listen to anything Jemma said) and slowly slid my hand between two of the buttons on her pyjama top. "James!" she squealed quietly, and finally pushed me away. Again, I felt like an idiot, but I was still drawn to her body.

Jemma turned around then and walked into the bathroom, despite my protests. "Can I join you?" I asked, but she shut the door in my face. So, heaving a sigh, I tramped back to my room and prepared to face the next six and a half hours without her.

And boy was it excruciating. Just maths equations and basketball practice and a lot of ugly girls. Even those girls who I'd previously found attractive held no interest for me anymore. Not one of them could compare to my scintillating sister.

What kept my mind occupied all day was the question of why Jemma hadn't entirely prevented my advances. Surely she could have screamed bloody murder or given me a swift kick in the crotch (which, by the way ...

ow!

). But she hadn't done either of those things. True, she'd moaned and groaned the whole time, but, seriously ... since when is that a method of

preventing

sexual advances?

So we're in agreement then? Jemma felt something for me, however small that feeling was. But, as I mentioned earlier, I could make an educated guess as to the source of her interest in me.

If

she had an interest in me (which, admittedly, was still up in the air), I gathered that it arose purely out of gratitude for the things I'd said to her. I'd lavished praise on her with complete abandon (although I meant every word of it) and I doubt Jemma had ever heard those sorts of compliments before, especially from guys. She'd had several male friends before, but I wasn't aware of any boyfriends in her life. Maybe she was a lesbian, I thought. And then: Oh, my God! Maybe she's a

lesbian

!

Needless to say, that single thought made the rest of my school day excruciatingly uncomfortable, helped along in no small way by the fact that my IT teacher looked a bit like Jemma when I squinted at her. But then so did the flagpole when I squinted hard enough.

All in all, the day was painfully long. By the end, I couldn't

wait

to get out of that Jemma-lacking hellhole and fly back to my fair princess locked away in her castle. No dragon would keep

me

away, not even hot-headed Mr. Wood, the maths teacher, who insisted the entire class stay back for an extra ten minutes to go over a test we'd all managed to screw up.

Like hell

, I thought, and slipped out the door. Sure, that spelled detention the next day, but I'd suffer through anything to spend more time with Jemma, even Mr. Wood's tuna breath.

When I arrived at said castle, said princess was sitting on the bench in her gown of denim and cotton and talking on the phone to some phoney Prince Charming. It may have been a

Princess

Charming, but it was better not to go down that road. Until later that night, of course, when I'd turn on my high beams and make like an escaped criminal.

I mouthed a hello to Jemma after putting my bag down, and, after she ignored me, mouthed another ten of them.

"Can you hold on a second?" Jemma said into the phone, with infinite courtesy. Then she rounded on me,

not

so courteously. "Go

away

!" she whispered furiously, her hand covering the bottom of the receiver.

"I'm just saying hello," I protested, pretending to be hurt. Well, I

think

I was pretending.

"I don't

care

," Jemma said clearly, and jerked her head to the side to let me know she wanted me out of the room A.S.A.P.

"Who are you talking to?" I asked instead.

Jemma grumbled angrily. "What does it matter?"

"Is it a guy?" I asked quite plainly. "Is he asking you out?"

Her brows contracted and, rather than looking angry, she now looked completely baffled. She shook her head as if she hadn't heard me properly and said, "

What

?"

"Is he asking you out?" I repeated, unaware of how idiotic I sounded.

Yes, I know

you're

aware, but I thought we'd already established the fact that your opinions don't count.

Jemma closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then opened them again and whispered, barely audibly, "Piss – off."

Without waiting for me to leave, she lifted the receiver to her ear again and said, "Hey, sorry about that. My brother's annoying me." Then she started talking about college and birthday parties and so-and-so who got stood up last Friday night; but I tuned out her conversation in order to pinch her toes. Well, not

pinch

really – more like pluck. And very softly at that.

At first, Jemma continued talking on the phone, albeit with a furious look on her face, and merely kicked her foot violently whenever I touched it. But I wasn't discouraged and soon we were both grinning broadly and a note of laughter was beginning to creep into Jemma's tone. She was still talking to her friend, who I gathered, from the amount of gossip being shared, was (thankfully) female, but at the same time she was able to snatch her foot back every time I pinched it. She's a real multi-tasker my sister. Sharp as a dagger. Except her body, of course, which is soft as a beanbag. Though not as saggy. More like a scoop of delicious ice cream really.

Eventually I mustered enough courage to extend my little game further up Jemma's legs, as well as underneath her jeans. Her indignation began all over again when I started plucking her ankles, but she soon lapsed into enjoyment once more. The same thing happened when I pinched her sides, and when I poked her belly. By this time, I think she was more engaged with our game than with her conversation with her friend. The friend, I think, thought likewise.

"Uh, no," Jemma said, batting my hand away once more. "I'm just ... trying to make my bed at the same time." Then she laughed. Then she said, "I do it all the time." Which was a lie, of course.

In truth, I think I was dreading the end of her phone call more than I was looking forward to having her undivided attention once more. I knew she would explode once she was free of distractions, and so when the time came for her to hang up, I braced myself for a verbal onslaught. But all Jemma did was hop down (gracefully) from the bench and hit me lightly on the chest. "You're so annoying," she said, but her tone was without rancour.

That's right!

Without

rancour. She

liked

it!

But before I get ahead of myself, I have to describe how hurt I was when the smile faded off Jemma's face and she left the room. I was so excited whenever she responded to my advances, but that excitement was always as fleeting as snow in the middle of summer. She just never stuck around long enough to spend any time with me. It was maddening!

And so I followed her upstairs, and leaned against her doorjamb, just absorbing her beauty. She was reading a magazine and it wasn't until she closed her eyes and sighed irritably that I realised she was aware of my presence. "What do you want?" she asked without opening her eyes.

"I don't want anything," I replied innocently. So, yeah, it wasn't the first answer that came to mind, but it was sure as hell the safest.

Jemma opened her eyes and looked over at me with a bored expression on her face. Even then she looked cute. "I'm trying to

read

," she said.

"Well, do you have any magazines I can read?" I asked hopefully.

"Yeah, I think I have the new Lonely Pervert around here somewhere," said Jemma, and pretended to cast her eyes about in search of the non-existent magazine. At least, I

assume

it doesn't exist. But who knows?

I ignored her comment because I'm

sure

she didn't mean it, and instead crossed her room and picked up a Cosmo from her pile. "I could read this," I said.

Jemma sighed. "Fine. Just do it in your own room."

"Why can't I read here?" I asked, as though I was confused, which, really, I was.

"Because this is my fucking bedroom!" Jemma cried out loudly. Then she grunted and said, "God! You are

so

annoying!"

"Okay, okay," I said, suddenly feeling that I might be safer outside the room. Plus, I figured I'd score

some

points for heeding her wishes. After all, girls are drawn to guys who give in to their every wish, right?

"I'll just ... uh ... read this in my room," I said, and traipsed back to Lonely Land.

I closed my door behind me and dropped the magazine on my bed. It had a picture of a gorgeous-looking model on the front cover, but in my opinion she couldn't hold a candle to Jemma and her heavenly beauty. Still, I figured that getting some insight into the female psyche might lend me an advantage when it came to courting my lovely sister. So I flipped open the magazine and, after finding that over fifty percent of the thing was made up of advertisements, came across one of those quiz thingies that girls seem to treat as reputable scientific questionnaires. 'How sensitive is your man?' it said, and a thought suddenly occurred to me.

Yes, you know what it is, so let's just skip the details and say that I filled it out until I scored thirty out of thirty. I actually got twenty-four on my own, so all you sceptics can shove that down your pie hole, thank you very much!

Anyway, after I'd amended my wrong answers, I yanked my door open and hurried back to Jemma's room, not really expecting anything more than the greeting I received. The order of the day was a sigh, some eye rolling and a generous siding of, "

What

now

?"

"I just wanted you to look at this," I said, walking over to stand beside her and showing her the magazine proudly. "I did this quiz, and look what score I got."

Jemma glanced up disinterestedly, read my score, then just stared at me. "So what?"

"So I got a perfect score!" I replied emphatically. "I'm the perfect guy!"

Jemma just burst out laughing, which didn't do wonders for my self-esteem, I have to say. But once her paroxysm of mirth subsided, I was able to correct my statement, in the hopes that it would offset some of the humiliation I was liable to suffer. "I meant I'm a perfectly

sensitive

guy," I said.

Jemma was wiping tears from her eyes. I was both annoyed and happy to see her laugh. "Well, at least you have a sense of humour," she said, and gave another long chuckle.

"Hey, come on," I said, "how many of your boyfriends would have gotten a thirty?"

"None of my boyfriends," said Jemma, "would have been pathetic enough to take that quiz."

What I said next was uttered out of pure habit. It was the kind of remark that came naturally to me before I'd seen Jemma naked. "They went out with you, didn't they?"

Jemma glared at me. "I thought you were being nice to me now?"

"Well, you're not being nice to

me

, so why should I be nice to you?" I demanded.

"You're right," said Jemma, in a carefree tone, "you shouldn't." She raised her magazine again and either read it or pretended to read it.

I was thoroughly annoyed by now. "Fine!" I said sharply, standing up straight. "Then I won't be nice to you anymore. We can go back to the way things were."

"Fine by me," Jemma replied without even looking up.

"Okay, then," I said, slowly turning towards the door. "But don't say I didn't try."

"I won't," said Jemma, still refusing to look at me.

I waited another few moments, just to see if she'd cave in and ask me to stay, but she didn't – for some reason – and so I stormed out of her room.

I made it as far as my own room before I turned back and begged for her forgiveness. "I didn't mean it," I said. "It was just habit. You know what I think of you."

I waited and waited and waited for Jemma to raise her eyes from her magazine, but when she finally did, all she said was, "Are you still here?"

"Arrgh!" I cried, and stormed out again.

This time I made it to the stairs, and then I was back in her room, pacing back and forth. "You know, this is really unfair," I said, trying to ignore the fact that she had now put down her magazine and was regarding me with cool amusement. "I... I come here, trying to be nice, and civil, and

polite

, and all you do is tell me to bugger off. Well, excuse me for trying to patch things up between us, because ... you know ... I thought it might be

nice

. But of course

you

don't, because you're perfectly happy just sitting there reading your magazine and ignoring your own brother! Well, I'm sorry if I think you're attractive as hell and I can't get you out of my head." I stopped pacing and started jabbing myself in the chest with a finger, which kind of hurt actually. "You think

I

wanted this to happen? You think

I

wanted to be in here pestering you about some stupid magazines? Well, I didn't. I was happy with my life. I mean, sure, I spend most of my time at home and I don't talk to girls all that much and, yeah, I play the occasional video game; but I was

content

. And then

you

come along, with your... your," I gesticulated towards her body, "your hips and your breasts and your... your curves. How is that fair?" I demanded, raising my voice. "How is that bloody fair?