Every bloody year, I mean, every bloody year. OK, so it's only once a year but why can't we, for once, give it a rest.
It all comes down to the fact that I share a birthday with my great grandmother. Every year, without fail, we go down for a visit and to celebrate our joint birthdays. OK, when I was young it was fine but, now that I'm eighteen travelling for hour upon hour to visit some senile old bat who hardly recognises who I am is a real pisser. We used to go out and do exciting things but nowadays it's a trip to the park to feed the ducks. And guess who has to push the wheelchair.
Then it's back to the home of the living dead, some god awful decrepit mansion, stinking of stale urine and full of senile old biddies. There we have to sit around eating tea and cakes and talking about how well she's doing.
And the icing on the cake, the four hour drive back home. Mum and dad up front, Sandy and I in the back.
Sandy is my sister, two years older than me and off to uni come September. Her real name is Alexandra but she hates it and shortened it to Sandy some years back. She's not bad for an older sister and, although we fight like cat and dog most of the time she's also my best friend, the one I go to when I'm in trouble, the one who really understands me. In some ways we're complete opposites. Whereas I'm a bit shy with the girls she's lively and vivacious and always has guys hanging around her like bees around the honey pot.
What's more, I know for a fact she's just as reluctant as I am to come on these jaunts. One of her many admirers had asked her out to a party but dad put his foot down. "After all," as he put it, "this may be your last chance to see your great grandmother. She's not getting any younger."
So, yeah, neither of us on the back seat were exactly delighted with the day.
As with every other year we stopped off at Corley Services which is, as dad never fails to point out, almost exactly half way home. This meant that, by the time we had finished our over-priced and completely inedible motorway meal it was getting dark. That didn't bother me. I can still play my PSP quite happily without needing the lights on. Sandy, on the other hand, said she wanted to try and get some sleep so she dug out the picnic blanket from the boot and curled up on the back seat underneath it.
At first she was tucked up into the corner. She kicked off her shoes, put her feet up on the seat and was resting them on my lap. I told her in no uncertain terms that this was bugging me but she just wiggled her toes and gave me a look. She couldn't get comfortable which meant there was quite a bit of wriggling about and she ended up inadvertently kicking me in the balls; not hard to hurt but enough to make me lose a life and I told her to cut it out. In response she told me that I was such a big lump nowadays that the only way she could get comfy was to lay along the seat with her head on my lap.
Why not? It didn't bother me. In fact it was rather nice. She had to scrunch up a bit but she shuffled round and curled up across the back seat with her head resting on her folded arms which were resting along my thigh. She insisted that the pockets of my cargo shorts were uncomfortable so she pushed them out of the way. This made the cuffs of my shorts ride up to about mid thigh. She gave me a little smile and I smiled back. Yeah, sis, that's fine by me.
All the way along the M6 Toll road she just lay like that while I got on with my game and mum and dad sat in the front listening to the radio. It was only when we were back on the M6 proper and there were no more street lights that things began to change. She was lying with her lower arm along my thigh, her elbow round about my knee and her hand... well, her hand had been tucked up into her other arm but she slipped it free and now it lay directly between my thighs.
Directly between my thighs. I felt her stroking the cloth of my cargo shorts only millimetres from my balls. I wondered if she knew what she was doing, whether she knew what effect this was having on me or whether she was just fidgeting about as she tried to get to sleep. It was rather disturbing, having her hand so close, even if my shorts were in the way.
And then I found out she definitely did know what she was doing. With a deft little movement she shifted her hand so that it tucked it inside the cuff of my shorts and lay along my thigh. Sandy! What the fuck! You've got your hand inside my shorts! Her fingers were still millimetres from my balls but, this time, there were no shorts in between. And, just to make sure there was no mistaking her intentions, her hand moved higher so that the tips of her fingers were now tucked inside the legs of my boxers. I couldn't help but give a little grunt of surprise.
"Are you OK in the back there?"
"I'm fine, mum."
