Note: This is more a psychological story than a sex story.

A ghost hung on my back. I led it here. And downstairs, my poor sister-in-law curled into herself, all alone on the couch and huddled in a duvet cocoon. Dainty thing, what a trinket, but to brother, a treasure. I swayed out over the precipice of the loft above her and wrenched that fucking banister back and forth with a single fist. My nails scritched into the wood. And still I had to wait.

The timing wasn’t right. Bonanza was on. Hop Sing, Candy Canaday, and Wilhelm screams. Gotta save Little Joe.

My toes curled into the carpet. One foot plucked away strands; the other jittered in impending ecstasy. I timed the beats to the shudders of Mica’s sobs. My left fist kneaded my balls.

Then that thing happened. Ding dong ding dong. Ding dong ding dong. Ding. Ding. Ding…the clock chimed eleven times.

Showtime. Skinemax. Softcore porn hour. Hell, even HBO would be fine. Ah! Would you look at that? Someone hid the remote.

The den strobed pink–the Showgirls! theme throbbed color. The lamp, the couch, and even a curled up blanket–all of it flickered shadows across the back wall, something akin to a gaggle of stop motion caricatures dancing in staggered poses, teleporting left and right gleefully around poor wittle Mica Lou who cried on the sofa, fully unaware that her shadow frolicked behind her on the pink stained wall with the rest of them.

On either side of me–as well as down below–, the doors were all locked. The family snored peacefully in all the guest bedrooms. Why, I even gave up my own room to dear Nanna Fee. ‘Such a thoughtful boy!’ ‘Yes, I know I am, Nanna.’ ‘Cheeky thing.’ ‘All in the genes, Nanna.’ ‘You’re going to make some young lady very happy someday.’

Also, I was going to make some brother very mad.

I began to skulk down the stairs. My bare toes kissed the edges of the steps lest the wood squeak. But right then, Mica and her quivering mass of duvet rose from the couch. Her shadow grew as she stepped closer to the TV, dragging along her white blanket as a cloak. Ta-tink. She pressed in the glass display on the entertainment center and released the magnetic button. She pulled out a VHS.

It was sleeved in an unmarked slip. That was some kind of homemade movie. She pushed it into the VCR.

Very quickly, I realized that it was not the fun kind of home movie.

Out of the TV, ice blue phosphorescence poured into the den. Scenes of brother flashed.

The first was of Brother walking Mica down the driveway as he held the camera. Mica squealed, “Oh my god! You didn’t. You didn’t!”

Brother showcased a brand new Honda Civic.

I remembered hearing about that day. It was their first anniversary.

There was a paper bow on top of the car. “Paper is the traditional 1st anniversary gift,” Brother explained.

He pulled off the bow as Mica hugged him tight, simpering in love. As Brother stepped away, the camera panned down to a Hertz tag on the front license plate. He handed Mica the paper bow, like the bow itself was her true gift and said, “Happy Anniversary, Love!”

Mica fast-forwarded as he was mid cackle.

The next clip was also from Brother’s point of view. He held onto one of those glitter cannons as he hid around a corner. When Mica strolled by, he popped out, but he didn’t, like, shower her with the glitter from above. He shot it right in her face.

Mica fast-forwarded before he got the chance to laugh.

The next clip stopped my heart cold. It was a sweeping view of the ocean from high up on a rocky outcropping. Somebody jumped off. My legs turned to jelly at the mere thought. But something worse still appeared.

Ba…thump. Ba…thump. My heart seemed to hesitate between pumps.

There stood Brother, bare chested–the man, absolute sculpted marble. He wore his hair slicked back like some 80’s boiler room broker. He was calling to someone off screen, “Come on, come on,” waving them on. When they didn’t come, he stalked over. The camera followed him as he scooped his petite wife up with one arm.

The princess carry would have been romantic were it not for all the laughter. His friends egged him on, teasing Mica. She didn’t tease back. Brother jumped off the cliff with her in his arms. Before they could disappear over the other side, Mica pressed a button on the VCR and rewound the film. The two of them jumped off the cliff again, and Mica pressed rewind before they fell. Over and over, it was the same scene of those two jumping and her not letting them fall.

The stairs creaked as I descended but this time, I didn’t care. I tugged my backpack up and felt the ghost jostle around inside. I limped into the living room. The joints between one of my knees swelled, grinding thin cartilage against itself. There must have been a storm coming. I was far too young for that kind of pain, but it happened all the same.

The floor creaked, and Sister-in-Law whipped around, glaring at me as she knelt in front of Brother on the TV. I paid her no bursa escort mind. Her head swiveled, transfixed on me as I gimped around the couch. I unslung my backpack and set it down on the coffee table with a clank, then I limped up to Mica.

She glared up at me and I down at her, but most of all, I stood far taller than Brother on the screen. She had to crane her neck even higher to see me.

“May I?” I motioned to the floor next to her, intending to take a seat.

“It’s not my place,” she replied.

I wasn’t sure how to take that. Even still, I squat down on one leg, easing my bad leg straight out, and kind of hopped down onto my butt. Oh, why couldn’t she have still been sitting on the couch? My fingers massaged the pangs from my knee, and her gaze tried to send her sympathies. Fucking bitch. Pity me?

I sent back my hate. Her eyes flashed, a trace of exhilaration swept across her face, and she turned back to the screen.

Brother’s precious vagina continued to replay the cliff scene over and over again, a maddening thing. Instead of desensitizing me to the heights, quivering jelly slithered down my spine at every leap. When the goo bled all the way down into my toes, my hand shot out, trying to grab her though the screen. “Stop!” I ordered.

Mica paused the scene just before they lept. Her fragile hand lowered mine from the screen, and on her face, she bit her tongue in a succubi’s smile.

Play.

They jumped.

Rewind.

They jumped again–over and over. She wasn’t watching, though. She was savoring my reaction.

No. Worse. She was trying to piss me off.

My legs were soft and numb. My heart–ba…thump, ba…thump–irregular. Ice trickled from my pores, yet somehow, also burning my insides up. She rewound further this time. Back to the first shot of my sculpted brother standing over the ocean, completely shirtless.

It was like he was telling me he was more of a man than I would ever be. And his wife knew it, too.

Mica bit her tongue and paused there. “I love this shot of him. So many–” She acted as though she was trying to find the right word, but not really. She pointedly glared at my gangly physique, and challenged it. “–muscles he had.”

I closed my eyes and found my center. I refused to give her what she wanted. She seemed perplexed as to why I didn’t pounce and smack some sense into her.

I was not Brother. I was better.

“And yet,” I said, “he could only handle small things.”

I was also worse.

I pointed to the white VHS slip she held. Mica handed it over. On the spine, written in sloppy marker it read: AFV. America’s Funniest Home Videos.

“He sent a copy in, you know,” she said,” but–“

“No one would want to see that.” I gave it back, staring at her mosquito bump chest. She hugged the slip to her shame.

“Mateo, Gale, Amir, and all the rest did. I made shrimp cocktail and pigs in a blanket and–.” She wanted to say more.

“What else?”

“I…catered. They laughed.”

“At the movie?”

“…that, too.”

Fuck. I hated her even more now. “Makes sense,” I spat, this time, glaring at her own meager credentials.

She hugged the slip tighter. “There’s another one we watched.”

Another movie–? Realization hit me like an arrow through the gut.

She ejected the tape, opened the cabinet–Ta-tink–and filed it away. She pulled another white slip from the shelves. I knew what it was.

I shot forward and snatched her wrist just as the tape found the VHS slot. My fingers wrapped clear around her and touched my own thumb. I could snap her bone so easily. Despite my grip, her fingertips flicked the tape in the rest of the way and the machine gobbled it up.

A very young me was sitting in the middle of a trampoline in our backyard. The camera panned up to an equally young Brother and Amir standing on the roof of Mom and Dad’s house. I was so happy to be included that day, to be hanging out with my big brother and the guys.

“This is mission control,” Gale’s pubescent voice squeaked from behind the camera, “you are clear for launch.”

Brother and Amir yelled “Kamikaze!” and jumped off the roof and smashed down into the trampoline. Their collective weight sagged the netting to the ground, and right at the apex, the two of them snapped their legs up and I rocketed into the air. They roared in laughter. It cut out abruptly when I safely bounced back down without any fanfare.

I knew what happened next. I didn’t need to watch, but Mica made me.

They weren’t happy with the results of their launch, so they drug my ass up to the roof. I didn’t want to jump. Brother threw me at the trampoline.

The current me lurched in alarm. I must have let go of Mica’s wrist at some point because she grabbed my finger and pushed it into a button. Click. Young me paused in midair, my brother’s arms still swooped out wide from the toss.

I knew what happened next. My knee throbbed.

She slid my finger over. Click. I pressed rewind. I sailed back bursa escort bayan onto the roof and it appeared as though Brother’s arms scooped me up and caught me, safe and sound. Click. She made me press play. Brother threw me again. Click. Pause. Click. Rewind. Brother caught me.

I don’t even know when she let go. But I was transfixed and going through the cycle absentmindedly on my own. I don’t even know how many times it replayed. But I do know that each time Brother caught me, the tingles ceased, and I was safe.

When I remembered where I was and what I was doing, I caught Mica watching my reaction with a very different interest. “He could be so nice.”

Was that what she called it?

“Mica, do you want to know something cruel?”

She bit her lip and nodded. I ejected the tape. The screen became static.

“Dangling the carrot only to ever get the stick.” I broke the VHS in half against the floor. “Weren’t you just his ass?”

She pulled the duvet over her head and tucked her knees into her chest. “…at least he liked me.”

That fucking bitch! “Didn’t he like your hair short?” I asked. “You know, that bob cut, it was his idea, wasn’t it?”

Her eyes shot open. “No.”

The way she said that, she was sharp. Either that or she already knew. Even still, I had to twist the knife. “No, it wasn’t, or no to something else?”

“He didn’t,” she stated flat out, and no, she wasn’t talking about her haircut.

“Flat chest, no ass, bony, gangly, and knobby–aren’t you just the ideal little boy?”

She shuddered, thinking only of herself. “I–I know.”

Fuck, I hated her. “Did you?”

“Yes, now.”

I jerked off my shirt, snagging it in all directions, until it finally popped off over my head. “Show me.” I pointed to her chest. “Show me yours.”

“Wha–” was all she got out before I pounced.

“You wanted this.” I shoved her onto her back. “You goaded me.” I ripped open the blanket, and underneath, her oversized Hane’s tee sagged down past her slender thighs. “You shoved it in my face.” I ripped her shirt right down the middle.

She closed her eyes and held up a hand to stop me. I remained straddled over her. She reached back and unsnapped her tea-cup bra. One tender arm slipped through the strap and the remains of her shirt, then the other. She flipped her bra down.

Under the white glow of the static, she pushed her meager assets together. Her areolas were almost non-existent. Tiny nipples stood erect. I touched my own. Then, I slid my hand up her stomach, climbing her knoll, and pinched her pert beads at the apex.

They were better than mine. I snarled. A tiny shriek escaped her lips. I flipped her over. She tried to crawl away from me, but I dragged her back by the ankles. One hand, I pressed into the small of her back, pinning her in place. The other yanked her cotton shorts and panties down all in one go.

Her bare crack, the crest of her hill, stood exposed, and I snapped the hem of her shorts onto her bare cleft. She yipped. I poked one finger into the divide of her ass. So soft, so supple yet firm. Fucking perfect. My finger pressed into her eye. It was so dry, both of us, but I prodded and pried her open until the heat of her insides warmed my finger. I worked it in and out, pooching her asshole back and forth.

Better, so much better.

Then I clawed my shorts down. My erection hung over her. And just as I pressed it into her, shoving deep between her cheeks, Mica whimpered for the first time.

I was worse than Brother.

I pulled her pants back up. I pulled mine up as well. I flipped her back over. She clutched her bare chest, hiding it from me. I leaned over, placing my arms on either side of her. She turned her head and braced her body. One of my arms folded one half of the blanket back over her, my other folded its side. I wrapped her tightly into her cocoon and crawled away. My back sagged against the couch as I sat there on the floor, rubbing my swollen knee.

“You’re better,” I told her. It was the truth.

She said nothing. She laid on her back, me against the couch, and we stared at the static in silence. Its white noise enveloped us.

Sometime later, Mica staggered to her feet and slunk off, dragging her blanket with her. I eased my head back and closed my eyes. My head lolled off to the side and I spoke to the ghost, “You saw that, didn’t you?”

Of course, it didn’t answer.

I closed my eyes. Footsteps padded back. The couch sagged behind me. There were the rustles of fabric, and I felt a delicate hand. It caressed through my hair, stroking its length.

“Yours is softer,” Mica said.

I didn’t open my eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Good.”

“I lied.”

Her thumb traced down my cheek and fed into my mouth. She pulled my bottom lip down. “I always knew.”

I bit her. She flinched, but didn’t try to pull away; somehow, she knew that pulling away would make it worse.

I could relate.

I opened my mouth. Her escort bursa thumb pressed down on my tongue and massaged it back and forth. She shoved deeper, until I gasp and gagged as she shoved down my throat, gaping my jaw on her fist. I didn’t fight it; the way she had me, it would make it worse. I knew that feeling well. I wondered how it was for her, being on the other side of it.

Call it misplaced empathy, but my hand contorted back over my shoulder and snaked between the covers. I found her breasts. The tips were hard as pebbles between my grip. My fingertips massaged them. Did that feel better?

Her fist and thump slipped from my mouth and traced down the outside of my throat. She pressed down into that certain spot where my chest met my throat, crushing into my windpipe where it had no plating. That was fine. I eased my head back, opening more of my throat to her, a feral submission, and I let it happen. This feeling was so nostalgic. But for her, I was sure this was a first.

As she did so, I continued to softly roll her nipples between my fingers, making them feel good. She bit my ear, hard. But also, behind the pain, her tongue slithered along the inside. Sharp pain, a tender massage, and a bared throat.

She let me go on all fronts. Her thumb that had been strangling my pipe tickled down and fondled my nipples. She copied my actions against her own. I flicked; she flicked. I squeezed; she squeezed. But what I liked most of all was when I delicately brushed them in circles. Something about that, it–it was like she was telling me we were the same.

Her lips pressed against my ear, whispering heady air inside. Her moist tongue punched down the canal and she caressed me back and forth. She wanted me to feel good, too.

“Mica?”

“Mmmm?” The vibrations hummed right down the tunnel.

“I’m going to sit down up there, “I said, “and I want you on my lap.”

Her tongue slid out. “My butt?” She asked.

“No, not there. There’s somewhere far more painful.”

“Will you–can I say no?”

“If you have to ask permission, then you never had a choice.”

I grabbed her hand, the one caressing me, and I kissed it as I’m sure Brother never did. I gimped myself upright and on over to the center of the couch. I pushed her legs and blanket aside. Then I sat down and patted my lap.

“Should I–do I need to sit?” She asked.

“Are you asking permission?”

She shook her head and crawled across the cushions on her hands and knees. Her bare chest erect with excitement while her shorts draped off her slender waist so loose, it was almost enough to peek inside.

She straddled me and leaned in for a kiss but I put my hand up. “Turn around,” I told her. “The view is better on the other side.”

“You want to watch my butt?”

“Not that,” I told her,” reach into my bag and pull out what’s inside.”

She knitted her eyebrows but slipped off my lap and stood before me. I gave her a nod. She turned around and bent her little ass over in my face as she unzipped my backpack. When her hands reached inside, she gasped and looked back at me, in shock.

“Do it or don’t,” I said.

She chose the first option. Mica pulled out a vase-looking thing and clanked it down on the coffee table.

“You know what that is?” I asked.

“Of course.”

Right then, I reared forward and kissed her through her shorts. In one swift yank, I dropped them to her feet and buried my face between her and my tongue inside her. She yipped but bent down, bracing herself against the coffee table, glaring at…that…as she arched back into me.

I kissed and lathered both of her sexes, stroking, suckling her all. Right when she began to grind into me, I pulled away.

“Sit,” I said.

She did, ever so gingerly. Instead of grabbing my cock to enter her, she pushed it forward and sat behind it, nestling it into her sex as she parted her lips around its girth. Then that dainty thing began rocking her hips, using her hand to press me deep into her crevice. She massaged it against her moisture on one front, and rubbed her palm on the underside, glistening wet in front and sweet friction behind.

I was more than ready to slip myself inside her. She said, “wait,” instead.

Mica leaned forward and set the vase directly in front of her, staring right between our union.

I kissed the back of her neck. “I am so glad you understand.”

She reared her head back and kissed my cheek, trailing her way to my lips. I found her and we kissed long and deep, all for it to see.

I grabbed the base of her thighs and pulled her legs straight upright, spreading her sex. With a grunt, I picked her up off my lap, sliding her ass up my scrawny abs. She grabbed my stick and positioned it right, then I lowered myself into her. Her hips shuddered and her lips clamped down tight, almost fighting me, forcing me to go slow.

My cock rammed its way through her tunnel–her squeezing, me hammering. I pounded through one of her ripples at a time until I was buried so deep, I struck a wall. It was not that I was that big. She was just that small. She yelped when I knocked, but also bucked her hips against it, clearly used to that. I pulled her up again and jammed her down. Moist velvet rode me tight. Her juice soaked into my skin.