Please note: all characters and events described in this story are fictional, and any resemblance to real-life persons is completely coincidental. All characters depicted in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older.
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"Allie, where's the remote?"
"On the coffee table," my sister yelled from the kitchen. I heard her rooting around in the fridge, probably making another sandwich. I kept telling her to watch her carbs, but she was a track addict who ran two miles a day. Ergo she ate like a shark with no side-effects.
I looked over at the coffee table, a sturdy European-style metal and glass affair dad brought back from one of his business trips, but there was no remote. A quick check of the end tables on both sides of the couch also left me hanging, which sucked because if there was no remote, then there was no movie because the stupid Blu-Ray player didn't have any buttons on the front except for 'power'. You could turn it on and off, but that was it. "No it's not. C'mere and help me look."
She trotted in from the kitchen, sure enough carrying a sandwich. "Remind me to write 'mayo' on the grocery list."
"Will you start looking?"
"OK, chill out. It didn't just grow legs and walk away." She set the plate with her uneaten sandwich down on the coffee table and joined the hunt.
We spent the next fifteen minutes searching, Allie bending down to look under the furniture while I pulled cushions off the sofa and love seat. We looked on the kitchen counters, the dining room table, behind the TV stand, everywhere we could think, but came up empty-handed. With a hefty sigh, Allie flopped down dramatically on the love seat and swung her feet up and over one arm. "Well that sucks."
"No kidding. You don't suppose Dad hid it for some reason, do you?"
"Why would he do that, Kara?"
"Because it's Dad? It'd be just like him to go out with his friends, knowing we were gonna watch a movie here, and hide the remote to screw with us. Remember the time he hid your uniform right before your track meet?"
"Yeah." Allie laughed. "How about the time he took all the sheets and stuff off your bed and tried to convince you that they were still there and you just couldn't see them because you needed new glasses?"
I involuntarily pushed my glasses up on my nose and shared her laughter. At eighteen, she was only a year younger than me, but Allie was still mostly a kid at heart. Somehow high school hadn't driven it out of her yet. I hoped the world never did.
"You're right, Dad's probably messing with us. I bet he hid it in his room. Let's go see if we can find it."
I hesitated. "I don't think he'd put it in his room. He doesn't like us poking through his stuff when he's not around."
"What, is he afraid we'll put on his nasty old man-undies while he's away?"
I had to laugh at that. Dad still looks decent despite being in his early forties, but his boxers are way too large to fit either one of us.
"It's a matter of privacy," I said. "You wouldn't want him rummaging around in your room, right?"
"No, but I wouldn't be a dork and hide the remote in my dresser either. Seriously let's just take a quick look and then we'll leave. It's Friday, so you know he's not going to be home before two AM anyway." She stood up and stretched, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Come on, I'll race you!" She took off down the hallway and I stumbled into a run after her, a pointless gesture since Allie got all the athletic talent in the family even if she was sometimes a bit lacking in the common sense department.
Naturally she got to Dad's room first and had the knob twisted and the door pushed open before I caught up with her a few seconds later. "Open sesame!"
Dad's room looked way different from our rooms. It was bigger for one thing, with a king-size bed and a big-screen TV right on the wall across from it. He had a desk where he kept his laptop when he worked from home, a massive four-column filing cabinet, a walk-in closet, and (my biggest envy) a private attached bathroom with its own glass upright shower and a separate bathtub with those awesome massaging jets. Allie and I shared the other bathroom, which was much more pedestrian: sink, toilet, tub, shower curtain, and a window with a frosted glass facade that let in the light without letting in the perverts.
Allie was already at the closet when I looked over at the television. "Why don't we just watch the movie in here? The TV's got a built-in DVD player and the remote's right there on his nightstand."
"Don't you want to snoop?" she whined.
I walked over to the bed and climbed up on it, the pillow-top mattress and bedspread cool and soft against my knees. "You snoop. I'll get the movie cued up." I grabbed the remote and hit power. The TV clicked on, a simple blue screen. Scanning the remote, I pressed the button for 'DVD'. Then I realized something. "Hang on, I left the movie in the living room." I got off the bed, hearing the metal clank of hangers as Allie sifted through Dad's wardrobe looking for God-knew-what.
I was halfway down the hall when I heard the music. It was jaunty, but cheesy, the kind you have a hard time believing anyone would listen to of their own accord. Especially Dad, who was known for loving his Zeppelin, Stones, and Floyd. Naturally the music Allie and I enjoyed on the radio was 'garbage', but his was 'classic'. Don't get me wrong, I like Classical music just fine, and I don't think the two years of piano lessons when I was ten and eleven were a waste, but Dad's idea of 'classic' and mine couldn't have been more different. I wondered if Allie had turned on Dad's iPod, which was docked on his nightstand and served as his alarm clock, but no chance Dad would have such a moronic tune on his play list.
Curious, I walked back into the room. Apparently there had been a disc in the DVD player which decided to auto-play when I turned it on. I went to eject it, but the title caught my eye: 'Sister's Surprise.'
"Allie, come here. I think Dad pranked us after all." I found the remote and hit pause.
Allie walked out of the closet. "How come?"
"I think he hid the remote, figuring we'd go into his room to use the DVD player, and find this." I pointed at the screen.
"'Sister's Surprise?'" Allie screwed up her face. "Gotta be a joke. Well, let's not disappoint him." She bounded up onto the bed, hogged most of the pillows, and stretched out her arms and legs. I climbed up after her and despite her sprawl still had plenty of room. Like I said, Dad's bed is huge compared to the full-size mattress in mine. I reached over and hit 'Play' on the remote, then settled back to watch.
Two girls who maybe kind of looked like sisters if I took off my glasses and didn't think about it very much, walked into the frame. They wore matching basketball uniforms, only with shorts that were way under regulation for length, and tops so low-cut as to guarantee a suspension if they were worn in any gymnasium during school hours. They were outside, a bright sunny day as opposed to the cool autumn night outside our ploace, and they walked up to the front door of the house where they presumably lived. Names flashed on the screen, the opening credits, but they had to be made up. I'd certainly never heard of anybody actually named 'Candy Kane' or 'Priscilla Pounder' before. And that stupid, fake-happy music kept right on playing.
"Who names their kid 'Candy' anyway?" Allie asked with a giggle. "That's just asking for trouble. 'Candy' is, like, a stripper name."
The camerawork was shoddy and unsteady, with somebody obviously holding it and struggling to keep the girls in view while walking behind them and trying not to trip on the sidewalk. The sound was also crap, despite the shadow of a boom mic I could see cast on the wall beside their door. It looked marginally cleaner than your standard low-budget film, but I'd seen any number of indie shorts on on Vimeo or YouTube that put this to shame.
One of the girls produced a key from between her cavernous cleavage, caused by breasts way larger than seemed natural for someone of her size, and fit it into the lock.
"Oh come on," Allie said. "How'd she keep that in there, magic? Gravity's a thing!"
Did I mention Allie's one of those people who likes to talk to the screen? I ignored her, watching the girls walk through the door and inside a house that looked like a movie set before the property master had been there. The walls were bare, the furniture (what little there was) didn't match, and the carpet appeared far too clean for such a high-traffic area. The curtains were as generic as you could get, a plain ivory that could be pulled across to block the view but none of the afternoon light.
"That was a good practice," one of the two girls said, too stiffly in my opinion, like she was trying to make it up on the fly.
"Sure was," the other one replied, with a twinge of uncertainty as she walked inside the house.
"Bullshit," Allie snorted. "The only thing they've been practicing is gluing keys to their boobs. They're not even sweaty. Their
