For the First Time: Twenty-One Brand New Stories of First Love (45 page)

Her lips shape around a snarl and she claws her fingernails into the fleshy part of my hips. I grip her arms tighter and watch her lips.
“You’re the one who dresses me!”
She bucks under me.
“Don’t pretend…”
Doubt? Flickers across her face. She licks her lips nervously and her brows lose some of their severity, soften, but she quickly regroups, still angry. She scowls.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like looking. I hear you jerking off sometimes, in the shower, in our bed at night. Even if you weren’t getting paid for it, you’re the only slut between us.”

She doesn’t mean it; her hands on my hips are too conciliatory for me to believe her, but her words sting regardless. The truth is always worse.

All at once I am on my feet, away from the bed and my sister who knows me better than I’d like to ponder at the moment. “I’m leaving for a few hours.” I ignore Kylee’s moving lips and keep speaking. “There’s a can of tuna in the cupboard and some crackers. I’ll bring home some groceries.” I am not surprised when she doesn’t follow me. We can be as volatile as our lives; ebbs and flows between us are not uncommon, if brief. I fully expect things will be better once I get back.

*     *     *

Sandusky is vicious
with me. No lusty fondling or greedy sucking on my cock, he just bends me over, preps me with two cold, thick fingers, and proceeds to bang against my prostate with so much brutal force I’m surprised to feel myself get aroused. He fucks me fast and hard, with my cheek pressed into his tattered recliner. I take it like a champ and suppress a whine when he pulls the condom off and comes all over my ass. It would be easy for me to come, to simply grab my dick and pump it a few times until I paint his favorite chair, but I don’t like the way it makes me feel.
You’re the only slut between us.
I pull up my pants, apologize for this morning, and thank him for the two-week extension on our rent.

My ass feels oddly empty and wet the entire way to the convenience store. I wash myself off at the sink in the men’s room, grateful for the privacy of a single. Reggie, the night cashier, keeps it pretty clean. They’re having a sale on canned ravioli and boxes of mac-and-cheese. I’ll be able to stretch our food budget. My shoulders feel a little lighter with this bit of good fortune. It’s too late to get the utilities turned on, but I plan on skipping school tomorrow and making it there after a few tricks. We can suffer one more night.

I get home around nine at night. Anxiety coils tightly in my stomach as I walk into our trailer and immediately sense Kylee isn’t at home; the place
feels
different. As I put the groceries away it dawns on me she must be at Christian’s get together. Loneliness pangs in my chest. I’m deeply troubled by my sister’s burgeoning sexuality. It’s making her defiant, and angry. Not at me, I realize, but the things she is craving are frustrating for the both of us. She’s beautiful, and blind, and vulnerable. Rationally, I know she is capable of taking care of herself, that she isn’t naive or gullible, but…she’s ignorant about boys.

The things they want. The temptation she presents. I know.

When she isn’t home by eleven, I decide to make my way over toward Christian’s trailer. My heavy breath fogs the air as I walk briskly. I can see people, about eight to ten teenagers, milling around outside and drinking from red cups and cans. I hate talking to people; Kylee is the only one who never needs me to repeat myself.

A few people are looking in my direction as I walk up the road toward them and it isn’t long before some of them recognize me. They point.
“Thedefkid,”
one of them says. Unease settles over me when they become excitedly agitated by my approach and I can’t help but follow their eyes.

There…just to the side of the trailer and under a low watt bulb, is my sister.

I lack the words to describe what I felt in those endless moments as I watched my other half with Christian. Her skirt, the one I had picked out this morning, was rucked up to her waist. Her soft, thin black tights were stretched to accommodate Christian’s hand as he sawed his arm back and forth. But her face…her full pink lips were puffy, open with twisted pleasure pain, and crying out with sentiments I’d never hear—her delicately pointed nose scrunched with ecstasy. I knew every freckle on that delicately tilted nose. I’d counted them for her; I’d kissed them. My emotions were incapable of maintaining shape; they morphed from one to the other, bursting, crashing, dragging me under, and firing me up. I stood there, watching and feeling.

I have always felt me and Kylee were once one person, that it’s possible we were never meant to be separate people. I am her eyes and she is my ears. She is fierce where I am resigned. I am practical where she is passionate. I am a man and she is quite literally everything I am not. What cruel twist of fate would create two where nature had obviously intended only one?

I knew one day, this would happen, one day my sister would spread her legs for some asshole. But…I realized then, in that short eternity as I watched another boy fuck my sister on his unworthy fingers, that I am hopelessly, deeply, irretrievably in love with my twin.

“Kylee!” I can’t imagine how I must sound, but the abrupt horror on Christian’s face is gratifying. He rips his hand from between my sister’s thighs and holds up his hands in a plea for my understanding. He’s talking. I can see his panicked face and moving lips in my peripheral vision, but I am not focused on him.

Kylee is suspiciously calm. Her head is tilted back against Christian’s trailer and her lips are still open and gasping. I am momentarily transfixed by the steam rising from her hot, gaping mouth, those puffy red lips. I track her shaking hands as she drags her tights up over her ass where they’ve sagged under Christian’s forceful groping. She has to reach in to adjust her panties before shifting her tights back into place and tugging her skirt down. A brief surge of lust mingles with my irrational rage when I think of her twisted panties and virgin pussy. Did Christian make her come? Was he too rough?

I snag her wrist, not trusting myself to touch those traitorous fingers, and pull her away. “We’re going home,” I say, and to my overwhelming surprise, Kylee smiles and moves with me. I’m more surprised when Christian shoves both hands against my chest and shoves me hard. Unwittingly, I drag Kylee with me and we both bounce from the trailer to the ground. By the time I open my eyes and shake the blur from my vision, Christian is at my sister’s side, his face remorseful and stupid. Kylee is visibly shaken, hurt and confused.

I launch myself at Christian and knock him on his back. This piece of shit put his hands on my sister,
in her
. He tasted her lips and shredded through her innocence. He has tainted my world, introduced sin, my sin, into our world. He is no match for my rage and I keep him pinned as I straddle his hips and raise my clenched fist. I am hard with adrenaline and things I can’t name when I connect with his cheek. It’s so satisfying, I keep doing it, I keep punching this idiot boy’s face, punishing him for touching what belongs to me. To
me.
My sister. My twin. Mine.

I am interrupted by Kylee’s familiar weight on my back, anyone else I would throw off, anyone who dared stop me, but not her. Christian is panting beneath me, arms over his face—hands facing out and trembling. His nose is bleeding and there’s blood on his lips. I know from personal experience he’ll be bruised for the next three weeks. I’m not sorry. Kylee pulls me back, helps me stand, and ushers me away from him. I meet the eyes of every person we pass as we walk away from the party; they part like the Red Sea.

I have never been more pleased to have a reputation as a freak. We’re unpredictable.

A
ll the way
home, I am vibrating with amorphous emotions. What is Kylee thinking? Her fingers are curled into the crook of my elbow, the same as they always have been, and yet there is something divergent in her hold over me, something
more.
I don’t know how I know, but I do.

“Are you mad?” I ask. Kylee shrugs. She doesn’t seem angry or sad, not happy either. She’s thoughtful, not bothering to keep her eyes open as she walks, relaxed into her blindness. I keep stealing glances at her lips to see if she’s speaking, and because I keep thinking of them. We are almost home and the possibilities are limitless. I dangle in the void.

I let Kylee guide me home, through the darkness of our tiny trailer, so like the womb we once shared, enclosing us in a space tight enough to bind our destinies, and into our room. Her calm, thoughtful demeanor dissolves and I am paralyzed by her closeness in a way I’ve never acknowledged. She presses me back into the door gently, coaxing me, and without hesitation or intent, I spread my legs to allow her into my space, our space.

I must have made a sound, because Kylee’s lips are at my ear and the hot rush of air means she’s shushing me. All inside me, there are instincts I am suppressing and battles I am losing. Somehow, my tremulous hands have found their way to her hips.
Don’t squeeze
, I beg myself, and close my eyes against the pleasure of digging my fingertips into her. And still she shushes me.

“Kylee,” I plead.

“Shhh…”
Her hands have been holding my head back against the door and I didn’t notice until she tugs my hair until I cry out.
“Shhh…”

Kylee is not the person I thought, not my sweet, innocent, and virginal sister. She has the tongue of a viper and the face of a saint. She let Christian finger her pussy outside where anyone could see, where she knew I would certainly discover them. She…oh, god…she’d been calm when I confronted them, unsurprised. I have never been seduced like this, never been rendered helpless by lust. I see our interactions as I’ve never dared view them. I think of the way Kylee struts around our room stark naked, her brownish-red patch of hair barely concealing her nether lips, and her red, stiff nipples tipped up like an offering, and I groan. Flashes of her devious smirk when she catches me staring at her tits. My sister has been seducing me for years.

For
years.

My hands claim Kylee’s body and I toss her back onto our bed. I shove her legs apart to press myself along her body and wrap my arms around her. I am ravenous for her, all of her, every inch, and right now. My lips suck at her neck as my hips snap back and forth in the cradle of her spread thighs, incensed by Kylee’s firm grip on my ass as she rides my jean covered erection.

I suck her salty-sweet skin, nibble on her soft, pointed chin, and finally lick the seam of Kylee’s mouth. She tastes of cheap beer, and I can detect the lingering traces of Christian’s attentions. They mean nothing to me once the tip of her tongue darts out to lick into my mouth. Crippled by a new wave of palpable desire, I open to her immediately on a gasp.

Her tongue tastes mine, strokes against it—inquiring, and lures me back into her mouth where her lips are waiting to suck me deeper inside. Her kisses are hungry and inexperienced, full of trust, love, and passion, all for me. Rut hits me like a bolt and I double my efforts to penetrate Kylee through our clothes; I’m hard enough to do it, I’m sure. I want to touch her tits but my need to have my arms around her is all-consuming. We pant into one another’s mouths, licking, sucking, and tasting—thrusting, pounding, and spinning out. We will not be the same after this. We will never be the same again. I am terrified and Kylee is my only anchor, the only way back to myself, ourself.

Every muscle in Kylee’s body locks up tight under me with the exception of her pulsing hips grinding against me. Her mouth is open and slack as I fuck in and out of it with my tongue, drunk on the sensation of her fragmenting in my arms. And then it’s my turn. My balls clench up hard and I squeeze my twin, forcing her still, as a powerful jet of come bursts out of me, followed by another, and another, and another, emptying into my underwear until I am in tears from the complicated and decimating pleasure. This is the singular, happiest moment of my life thus far.

It’s why I am not prepared for the punishing blow to my back or the rain of fists that follows. The wind is knocked out of me and I am having trouble sucking in air as I am ripped backward away from my sister’s grasping arms. She is afraid—no—she is in a state of
panicked terror
.

“Dad! No!”
Her lips, those beautiful lips I have loved all my life are twisted with fear.
Defbobby
saw. He saw what I was doing to Kylee. I can handle that, him thinking I’d force myself on her, that she is innocent in this. He throws me to the ground and kicks me in the stomach. He stomps on my arm, side, and legs as I curl into the fetal position. I need air. I am blacking out.

I want to scream when I see him reach for Kylee. She is so scared and I can’t do anything about it because I can’t fucking breathe.
Defbobby
forces her face down onto the bed with her arms pinned behind her back. His free hand is at his belt. No matter how drunk this fucker is, he can wield his belt as an extension of his cruelty.

I attempt, with every ounce of my being, to beg him not to do this, not to beat my sister, the only person in this world I care about. When he brings the belt down on her thighs, she kicks like crazy against the sting. I am going to kill him. I am going to kill this horrible son of a fucking bitch and cut off his hands so even in the afterlife, he can never raise a hand to anyone again.

My kicks to his legs are ineffectual; I am momentarily neutralized by oxygen deprivation and possibly a broken rib. He whips my face with the belt and I fear for my eyes, Kylee’s eyes. I shield my face and watch through one eye as he shoves Kylee into the mattress and beats her with the belt. He didn’t see what
I
did. He saw what
we
did.

I finally manage to pull air into my lungs, but the first sound that comes out of me is a wail of agony. The second, a prayer, “No!”
Please hurt me instead.
I don’t know why I’m shouting when he can’t hear me. I kick him again, aiming for his knee, and my prayer is answered when
Defbobby
drops the belt and reaches for me with two menacing hands. He hoists me like I’m made of cotton, a ragdoll for him to rip the stuffing from, and sets himself on bashing me into the unforgiving walls of our trailer until my consciousness fades in and out.