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{heat} kevin brown I was still into G.I. Joe when my stepsister, Meeli, showed me. She was a junior in high school, and what I didn’t know at the time as a bitch. The kind of stepsister that thumped your ears red, yanked the hair at the base of your neck. She’d get her friends to laugh at me. Backhand me across the mouth if I smarted off. We were forced into each other’s lives. She hated me, I hated her. But what she showed me that New Year’s Eve I took for the first time as affection. My dad and her mom were at a party and Meeli was left to watch me. A dangerous combination, I’d learned the hard way. She had friends coming over later, and if I breathed a word of it, I wouldn’t live to see next year. She was taking a bath and I knocked on the door. “Could you hurry?” I said. “I gotta pee.” I heard water crackle. Then, a slow drip. “Please,” I said. “Come in,” she said. “It’s unlocked.” I cracked the door and peeked through. I’d never seen a real live naked girl before. A couple of years earlier, Dad left a Playboy out and I got a peek at bare breasts. But it meant nothing to me, only that it was Dad’s “secret” stuff. This was different. She was laying back, knees slightly bent, and scooping handfuls of water. Letting it trickle over her chest and stomach. She was tan and glistening like polished mahogany. Her breasts were the size of peaches, her nipples copper and round and made me think of pennies. A patch of dark curly hair over her middle sparkled just above the surface. Not looking at me, she said, “So go.” “You’re watching,” I said. I couldn’t close my mouth or strip my eyes away. “Pussy,” she said, and looked up. “You checking me out?” “No,” I said, but could not stop staring. She smiled. “You’re looking at my titties, aren’t you?” “No.” She cupped the bottom of each one and said, “You like my titties?” I didn’t answer. “You do, don’t you?” I nodded. “Wanna touch them?” I nodded. She slid up a little and patted the side of the tub. I sat down. “Gimme,” she said, and took my hand. Placed it over her left breast. I felt the nipple go hard as a diamond against my palm. She smiled. Looked down at my hand, then back up. “Like that?” she said, and I said,” Yeah.” My voice gone. “You wanna make a girl like you, this is what you do,” she said, and pinched and twisted her nipple with my thumb and index finger. She let out a breath and wiggled. I was so erect I hurt against my Cobra Command underwear. “You really wanna make a girl like you,” she said, and slid my hand down her chest, her stomach, over the patch of hair, “you do this.” No spit in my mouth. My body so light on the inside I could float to the ceiling. She took my middle finger and slipped it in her. The water was hot but inside her was somehow hotter. Wetter. She slid it in and out slow, then rubbed the top in circles. Closing her eyes, a long slow breath from her mouth, she began to moan. Tilted her head back, her hair stuck to her cheeks like worms. I couldn’t believe the hot. She did it faster. Kept going until she vibrated, the water sloshing, her mouth wide, eyes closed. Then, she relaxed. She took my finger out, opened her eyes, and smiled. “Don’t tell anyone, you can do it again sometime,” she said. And I didn’t tell. Day and night I walked around thinking about that unbelievable heat. She went back to slaps, pinches, and insults. She never let me do it again. But what Meeli showed me, I’ve never forgotten. Not a minute goes by it’s not on my mind. An addiction, they call it now, after I’ve been married and divorced. Married and divorced again. After I’ve lost jobs and friends. But I don’t agree. To me, it’s proof that even hate has tiny pockets of pleasure. Anyone anywhere is always just the right touch away from a smile. And it’s nothing like love or affection. It’s that core hot burn in the middle. The heat and more heat inside us all. |
