Sister Is A Showoff

***All characters in this fiction are over the age of 18***

*****

As far back as I can remember, I've always known my sister was a bona fide hottie. She was when we were 12 and we moved; she was when I was cresting puberty and discovering just exactly how awkward boners can get; she was when she finally left me in peace and went to college. I knew because I couldn't not know: literally all of my friends growing up had huge crushes on her and weren't even remotely shy about letting me know it. Throw in an unashamed slutty streak she went through in high school, and it was pretty much impossible for me not to admit that she was a solid 9 or 10 across the spectrum of male desire. All that said, I was really very good about compartmentalizing my heterosexual male desire for women with the fact that she is my sister.

At least until I saw her naked, which was what started the whole fucking mess.

It happened by accident one day after she'd come home from college for the summer. Mom and Dad brought us out to the lake the first Saturday she was back. She'd spent the last few summers working near her college as a waitress, so I hadn't really seen her in quite a while. Our parents were excited to have the whole family back together, and decided to make the day trip as a sort of celebration. We lived in a pretty small town then so beach trips were big news, and since we were so close with all of our neighbors most of them came along. My dad brought some of his single friends, my best friend Joel and his family came along, and our next-door neighbors came along with their only daughter, Lauren.

The neighborhood was so small that it was pretty much a family affair, and it was a pretty PG-13 affair for the most part. Lauren and I were dating on and off on the sly then, and had been for the last six or so years. We were only 18, and we didn't want our parents or anybody knowing anything, so we were pretty quiet about the whole affair. And to be honest since she was pretty religious we hadn't really done much together physically, but we'd been very close friends for the ten years since I'd moved in next door to her. I tried some moves, but under her parents' strict watch I knew nothing was really going to happen anyways. So after I got denied once more trying to cozy up to her while the sun was setting, I gave up and fucked off to the lake's changing stalls.

It was, I maintain, merely a happy accident that when I pulled a privacy curtain roughly aside, Brittany happened to be behind it. She was toweling her blonde hair, both hands above her head, her delicious-looking breasts riding high on her chest, pert and perky. Brittany had huge breasts, or at least large ones. I pegged them at either Ds or DDs. They sat naturally on her frame; she was almost as tall as I was, and I was an athletic 6'1" at the time. My eyes wandered lecherously down her body in that moment, all too brief, past her taut fit tummy down to her stubbornly shaved snatch. I don't know for certain whether it was shaved or waxed, but I can state with authority that I never even once saw even a glimpse of stubble anywhere near it. Her thighs were muscular but not especially lean, suggesting an incredible ass that at least then I didn't get a look at. The whole moment lasted less than a second, but is imprinted on my mind forever.

"Eek!" she shrieked, proverbially slamming the curtain shut. "Jesus Christ!"

Indeed.

I was frozen there, a second or two, before I ran away. Ladies and gentlemen, I literally ran away, as though I was frightened. Maybe I ran from my thoughts. Maybe they were chasing me.

Outside the changing stalls, my Mom asked me if I had seen Brittany.

"No," I insisted, "She's my sister! I'm riding home with Joel."

Of all my friends who ever crushed on Brittany, Joel crushed the hardest. He crushed to the point where it was legitimately creepy, and sometimes I had to wonder whether he was really my best friend or if he was just hanging around me for opportunities to hang out near Brittany, but when she went away to college and he stayed, I figured he was legitimately a bro. So of course I had to talk to him.

"I can't believe you saw Brittany naked," he whispered back to me in the back seat of his Dad's van, "What did she look like?"

"I don't know," I said, "I don't want to think about it." The truth was, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Just to keep myself from whipping my dick out and masturbating right there, I was running my anti-boner thought reel through my head on repeat. (For those curious, imagine Winston Churchill fucking Margaret Thatcher and may you never be hard again.) Joel, however, was not to be denied.

"What do her boobs look like?" he asked.

"Like tits," I said, "Just, whatever."

"What color are her nipples?"

"Pink," I said without thinking.

"Oh god," he said, "How big are they? Are they pointy?"

"They're a little pointy, I guess."

"How big around?" he asked.

"The areolas? I don't know. Medium, I guess?"

"Oh man," he said, "I'm going to imagine her with tiny ones."

You can probably guess that Joel didn't have all that much experience with women at that point. It blew my mind back then. The guy grew up inexplicably dark-skinned and lean, but a little on the lanky side. He was an attractive guy by all means, but he just didn't get blessed with the social graces. Not that I had all that much experience to brag about, but in one of my off phases with Lauren, a girl named Marie took my virginity on my couch. Compared to Joel, I considered myself a veritable ladies' man.

Not that I was immune to Brittany's beauty. Once I was safely home in my room and behind closed doors, I was ready to clear out all sorts of uncomfortable sexual energy. I stripped down to my boxers and my erection was just about ready to force itself free. I shut off my room lights to hopefully discourage any unwanted family entry. Only the light from my computer screensaver lit my room, since this was back when those were popular. I quietly started rubbing myself seated on my computer chair, when I caught sight out my window of the light from Lauren's room next door.

Yes, my teenage girlfriend was literally my girl next door. And she looked every bit the part as well. Lauren appeared in the little frame of her window, all tiny little 5'2" of her. She had long dark brown hair, and she was wearing her bathrobe. She walked up to her window frame, and caught my eye. I knew what was afoot.

Although Joel was my "official" best friend, Lauren was more or less my closest friend ever since we moved here when I was 8. We started doing the childhood dating thing in middle school when we were 12 or 13, holding hands between classes and such, but we were the textbook definition of on and off. We'd had a long 'off' period recently, but in our last year of high school when we realized we'd soon be long parting, a surge of emotions had come over us and some of the passion had returned. That was just after I'd had the fling with Marie, who was two years older than me. Truth be told, I think maybe Marie had made Lauren a little jealous. Or maybe Lauren just had a tiny bit of exhibitionist in her. Either way, a few months after Marie left me before all the shit, when Joel, Lauren and I were approaching 19 and just getting ready to finish high school and head our separate ways for college, she had started giving me sexy little treats through our windows.

Even though we were living in the time of Facebook messenger, Lauren and I were so accustomed to speaking through the looking glass that it was second nature to us. We had dry erase boards by our windows to write messages on, and laser pointers to get each other's attention. But more often than the laser pointers, we seemed to have a special mental connection when we wanted each other's attention. And she had wanted my attention more often recently. Every once in a while, before she went to bed, Lauren would come to her window and undress to her sleep clothes for me. It wasn't nearly as scandalous or outrageously sexy as it sounds; more often than not, she wore a long plaid gown, but she would tease me with the reveal from her robe. Although every once in a while, she'd show me a peep of herself in a small tank top and sexy panties that I was only able to glimpse just the top of over the bottom of her window frame. A few times she dressed down to her plain bra and undies. I'd always smile back at her, maybe take my shirt off or mime masturbating, or occasionally actually just rub one out. I assumed my cock was out of view due to the height of my window, like her cooch would be if she ever went bottomless.

Anyways, it just so happened that when I was caught up in the fever that night, thinking about my naked sister Brittany, that Lauren happened to catch my eye. She was wearing her plain bathrobe. We made eye contact. I was gently stroking. She gave me a naughty smile, and started making side eyes as if she was afraid anyone else might see. And when I guess she felt reasonably self-assured, she made the by-then familiar to me movement of undoing the sash around her robe, clutching each side, and slowly teasing it open for me to view.

I was damn near floored, I tell you what. I'd been used to seeing her long plaid gown or like, a bra and panty set with Wal-Mart level sexiness. Maybe a tight tank top would be a pleasant surprise. But not that night.

Lauren was in full-on, sexy lingerie. The kind of stuff my naïve 18-year-old self would have imagined even Victoria's Secret would hide on their back shelves. Although in retrospect, her lacy black bralette and what I swore had to be matching black thong panties were a pretty vanilla entry in the sexy outfit category, it was still the sexiest I'd ever seen her looking. Although I was already pretty openly stroking my cock, I went into overdrive at the sight of her. She giggled, like she always did when she got that reaction out of me. Then she gently rubbed her breasts through her top, and even went so far as to jiggle them a little, before she finally closed her window shades and her light went dark.

Delightfully surprised as I was with the show from Lauren, I had greater masturbatory urgency in my head. And as I rubbed and stroked and feverishly fapped, all that was on my mind was the pertness of my sister's heavy breasts, bare in her changing stall, and when I closed my eyes I saw the erectness of her nipples, and when I came into my garbage can it was to the thought of her perfectly hairless pussy, a little slit in the skin of her most private area, and I came with the obtuse pleasure and abject shame of a man most confused. It remains, to this day, one of the greatest orgasms I've experienced.

And how I was a young man then. How I came, and immediately felt overcome with guilt and horror and religiously instilled shame, to think of my sister so, my very own flesh and blood, and how wrong it was to look upon her sexy body lustfully. How I used to even be able to feel shame. How certain I was then that I was going to hell, and that there was a hell, and that I would go there. But like any man worth the testicles in his sack, I was certain I could defy God, if it came to it. And so I figured, naively or otherwise, that the best path forward was to destroy what little evidence there was of my thought-crime. So I wrapped up my tiny domestic bedroom garbage bag, and brought it out to the bin we kept at the side of my house. I couldn't make eye contact with my parents on the way.

I almost literally crept my way out our back door and to the side of my house to our garbage bins, and just as I was getting rid of the evidence I heard a shuffling in the bushes. I opened my garbage bag in search of remnants of fruit bars I may have thrown out. I have had a weird little habit of feeding raccoons that come by our house, and thought one of the locals was in need of a tasty treat.

Alas, it was not to be. I saw a scrawny head poke itself out from a scrawny body hidden in the bushes.

"Joel?" I asked the darkness.

"Shut up, man," came his reply.

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

"Just get out of here. None of your business."

"Oh, I'm making it my business." I had a tendency to adopt attitude then. "What the hell are you doing in my bushes?"

"Jesus, man, just shut up. Nothing."

"Nothing?" I asked, "Really?"

When I got within grabbing range of him, which pretty much involved stepping at least waist-deep in heavy brush, I got him about the shoulder. He struggled, and tried to pull away. I caught him by a strap he had round his neck, and when he turned to run, a pair of binoculars slid into my hand.

"What the hell is this?" I asked.

"It's nothing."

"Well it sure doesn't look like nothing."

"Okay, man, whatever," he said, "You caught me. I was trying to peep on Brittany."

"Are you crazy?" I asked, "My parents are right inside. Anyone could see you."

"I don't care," he said, "I've got to see, man. Ever since you told me... I just can't get it out of my mind... I just need a peek, man. I've never seen a woman naked in real life before, and Brittany is honestly the hottest girl I know. I can't stop thinking about her."

"Too bad," I said, "That's my sister. I can't let you treat her like she's just some sex object."

I lunged. We toppled over into the bushes, and I tried to wrestle the binoculars from his grasp, but for such a skinny guy he has a pretty mean grip. I could feel that we were snapping branches. I worried my dad would hear us. He was the kind of dad who would cause ultimate shit if you fucked with his bushes. But his wasn't the voice I heard.

"Ricky?" I heard her say.

I popped my head above the foliage to gander at Lauren's window. She was poking her head out from between the center of her curtains. When she caught my eye, I saw a wicked smile cross her lips. And not just on her lips, but in her eyes, too. Her eyes caught a whip of sexiness in them, and I saw the curtains part a little wider. I saw her long robe drop off her shoulders; saw the instant exposure of the sexy parts of her skin. I saw her smile widen precociously, saw the tantalizing reveal of her naughty lingerie I'd seen just a few minutes earlier. And then, in shock and awe, I saw her smile turn a whole new shade of naughty as her hands raised up to tips of her bustier, her fingers slide in to catch grip, and watched as she pulled her bralette down over her breasts to flash me the flesh of her bare breasts for the first time.

I was dumbfounded. It must have only been for a second but it felt much longer. Until my idiot friend poked his stupid head out of the bushes, and his eyeballs darted directly to the tiny flesh of my maybe-girlfriend's exposed tits.

"Woah," he said loudly. That's when Lauren noticed him.

"Joel?!" she cried, releasing her top and yanking her robe tightly back over her chest. "Jesus Christ," she cried, "What the fuck, Ricky?"

"I didn't do anything!" I protested.

She wasn't hearing it. In either shock or shame, she slammed her curtains shut as hard as you can imagine a person slamming curtains shut. It felt a lot colder than I am able to imply.

"Dude," Joel said, "That sucks. But that was still pretty awesome."

"Oh just fuck right off," I said. I still had his binoculars in my hand, so I swatted him over the head with them. "Get out of here."

Maybe it was the realization that he had caused a lot of shit, but this time he didn't make much fuss about getting kicked off my lawn. I watched him bail across the street, then stared longingly in desperation at the slammed-shut curtains of Lauren's windows. It made me angry that Joel had seen her breasts, and that the first time I was able to see them had been poisoned by that event. It made me upset that she was so angry. I was staring at a blank curtain. I hurt for her hurt.

I really think I loved Lauren then.

***

She wouldn't talk to me the next day at school, and I sure as shit wasn't talking to Joel. I tried my best to make it through the day as though everything were normal, but it was an exercise in futility. I am sure you know how it feels to be depressed by the hurt of a loved one, but to feel at the same time betrayed by a friend is an especially unhappy headspace to inhabit.

I really felt like I wouldn't ever even see Lauren again, at least for a while there. People in crisis can be so dramatic. But as it turned out, her curtains were open the minute I got back from school. She wasn't home yet; was always busy a few hours after school with her church group - her family took religious orthodoxy to extremes that would make even my stubbornly faithful family cringe.

I was sitting at my computer, trying anything that would distract my attention from feeling betrayed and vicariously hurt and sore, when I noticed movement in her room. I rolled my scooty-chair to the window, desperate for eye contact. I grabbed my whiteboard without even looking, and was fumbling for my marker to scrawl an 'I'm sorry' note. She passed the window without even looking my way. I stood, pressed my nose to the glass, and watched for her desperately. She reappeared briefly, passing the other way. Still not even a halfway glance in my direction.

Then, once more, she reappeared. She was moving more slowly this time, although she still wouldn't look my way. She looked determined to look anywhere but at me. But she stopped, and I watched as she pulled her top over her head, revealing her nothing-special, no-bullshit, business-as-usual Wal-Mart white bra. Even though she wouldn't look directly at me, I know she knew that I was watching. She had to know. And even though I couldn't look her in the eye, I felt like I was making progress.

Then a boy appeared behind her in the window. Not anybody I knew well enough to recognize beyond first and unpronounceable last name, just a face I recalled seeing at some of her church group events when we were more officially official. And he was there, in the room with her. She was wearing only her bra on top. I watched him hug her from behind, and I saw her giggle and playfully squirm away.

That's when she made eye contact. That's when she looked at me, just like she knew I would be watching. I swear I saw her smirk at me. I swear I saw her wink. And then she slammed the curtains closed again.

There needs to be a word stronger than fury. Irate isn't scared enough; terrified isn't angry enough. I need a word that can capture not just the indignant anger, but also the paranoid fear of the unknown.

Failing that, I need alcohol - a fitting substitute for any unnamable emotion. This reaction will become repetitive and habit forming.

(Funnily enough, Brittany was the only one in our family who seemed to dodge the old Irish curse, or even any real substantive addiction except nicotine, which is not just weird but statistically kind of miraculous considering what happened.)

I stomped into the kitchen, heavier than I would have liked, and made straight for the fridge. Those days, my poison was what my dad wouldn't notice much of missing - think beer as generic as Budweiser, but state-local and even more cheaply patriotic. And grounding be damned if he noticed that day, because I was going to pound those piss-waters back one by one until I forgot what I'd seen, or why I was presently feeling bad, or just how sadness felt.

I was only two beers deep when Brittany came in.

"Jesus," she said, "What's wrong with you? You're problem drinking."

"Nothing."

"Stop it," she said, "Just talk. It helps."

"Lauren's being a slut."

"What do you care?" she asked, "She's her own person. Let her do her."

"I don't know," I said, "I think she's only doing it to get back at me. I think she's degrading herself to hurt me."

"Why? What did you do?"

"I don't know, she won't talk to me."