My Big Brother My Lover

It had to be the worst day of my life.

Everything went wrong. The SDS meeting had been busted. Someone in the fucking organization was a rat and no one was sure who. They got us with the maps of the ROTC building too, worse luck, though at least no one had any pot on them. It had been nine guys and me at the meeting, and it looked bad for the three older guys, the ones over twenty-one. The cops had been vile. They'd beaten the crap out of Tom. And even though I wasn't hurt, I shuddered at the thought of their slimy hands on me. The knowing smirks, the stupid remarks. They'd been trying to scare me and they'd succeeded pretty well, though I hoped I'd managed to conceal just how well. It was infuriating to have morons like this in a position of power over me and not to be able to say anything or to mouth off at all. Had to call Austin, of course. Couldn't have these jerks contacting the parental units. Crap. Bet he was sick of bailing me out. Second time this month. At least the last time I hadn't had any ID on me.

And then they talk to Austin about me as if I'm not there. Keep her in line. Teach her a lesson. Like I'm a fucking trained animal. The only reason we're letting her go is that she's only 18. Advising him to adopt a dress code for me. Shit. I feel like my head is gonna explode. I'm so mad I can barely breathe. I'm so mad that there are tears of rage in my eyes that I'm barely keeping in. I want to kill them all, I really do.

And Austin is just as mad as I am. But he's mad at me. Son of a bitch. He's got a viselike grip on my upper arm that I know is leaving bruises and he's yanking me down the road. Practically throws me in the car. Then he begins to yell. What the fuck do I think I'm doing? What kind of stupid shit am I trying to pull? I'm a moron. My intellect is subhuman. I dress like a slut. I could have been raped by cops. My cerebral cortex has been fried by recreational pharmaceuticals. I briefly consider jumping out of the car as an alternative to continuing to listen, but Austin's driving is so erratic I just don't dare. The thought of roadburn when I'm wearing a micro is marginally worse than getting screamed at. Only marginally. I'm hugely relieved when we pull into the driveway. I figure I can run and lock myself in my room and freak out in private. But Austin isn't done.

And that's when everything finally begins to get me down. Austin is just about my favorite person. He's been my hero from the time I was about a month old. He got me my first dog. He taught me to swim. He beat up the evil little shit who picked on me in fifth grade. He brought me my first joint when I was fourteen and he was sixteen. And now he hates me and thinks I'm stupid and awful. Just great. Wonderful. Might just as well go and blow my head off then and have done with it. Austin is in mid-shout when I burst into tears and can't stop. I'm horrified, mind you. Tears are a sign of fucking weakness. But try to tell that to the fucking tears. I stand in the middle of the room, covering my face with my hands face, expecting any second to hear what Austin thinks of this latest stupidity. I cringe in embarrassment, but I can't stop to save my soul. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I'm not only stupid. I'm stupid and emotional. And ugly and puffy-faced and red.

Just great.

I'm crying so hard that I'm shaking when I feel Austin's arms come around me and drag me over to the couch. He pulls me into his lap and rocks me, tucking my face against the side of his neck.

"Shhh," he says. "It's OK. Shhh," and keeps rocking, his arms holding me close.

For a while, this makes me cry harder -- maybe a reaction to the whole long awful day, or the fear of jail, or the fear that he doesn't love me any more and that my heart will break because of it. It's always like that when it's Austin. I can't stand to have him mad at me. Here I am in college and he's still the center of my existence like he was when I was 10. There's something wrong with me. There has to be.

Austin's arms have loosened just a bit as my sobs slow.

"Please don't hate me," I manage to choke out into the side of his neck.

I don't want him to see my face. I must look awful. "Of course I don't hate you. Shh." He's brushing the hair out of my face and kissing my eyelids, his other arm around my waist. And I don't know how it happens, but somehow the lips that have been kissing away my tears are on my own and then it's like an electrical circuit has snapped into existence, and everything changes, everything is dissolving. My skirt is concealing very little at this point and I can feel Austin's sudden, unmistakable erection pressing against me through the thin fabric of my underpants. My arousal is so complete, so total, that I'm almost shocked by it. I typically live too much in my head to react this way. I can't begin to understand it. It has to be because it's Austin. But now I catch fire, I'm crazy with need. I rub myself against his cock, moaning into his mouth and throwing my arms around his neck as he kisses me and slips his hand down the front of my dress.

That's when he suddenly has qualms of conscience. He drops his hand and tries to flip me off his lap (it doesn't work -- I have no intention of moving).

"Romana -- look, you're upset. You don't want to do this. I don't want to do this."

I'm sitting on proof that he is bullshitting both of us. I say so. He tells me I don't know what I'm talking about. He says we'll be sorry. But I know that we're suddenly closer than we've ever been, that something crucial has changed, that all the lies can stop. Everything is different. I stand up (a bit regretfully) and slip off the dress -- there was never much of it -- and then the panties. I stand in front of him.

"Hold me. Kiss me. Fuck me. Love me. I wanted you before I was even born. I wanted you inside me filling up my empty places before I even knew what a cock was. We own each other. We are each other. Let the rest of the world go to hell."

Austin's clothes are off in what seems like seconds. In only a few more seconds he has me on my back on the floor, my legs spread, one knee resting against his shoulder, his cock poised between my legs. I just can't stand it.

"Please?"

I want him so much. It's as if I spent my entire life waiting for him to fill me up.

"Please."

And he impales me in a single thrust and I almost come right there, screaming with the pleasure and the fullness of it.

"That's where I belong," he growls, beginning a rhythm the crescendo of which almost makes me faint.

"That's where you belong," I agree, before I become incapable of coherent speech.

"I love you."

But I'm not sure which of us said it.