textfiles/sex/EROTICA/S/sibed04.txt

Archive-name: Family/sibed04.txt
Archive-author: Michael Kalen Smith
Archive-title: Siblings - The Early Days - 4

                 From SIBLINGS -- a novel in progress

                          ("The Early Days")

                        [...from chapter 4...]


   I began going out on real dates when I was fifteen.  These days, I
suppose, kids of both sexes are old hands at dating by the time they're
twelve, but parents weren't so progressive in the middle America of my
adolescence.  I was always perfectly at ease with Alex but I often
seemed to be afflicted with stupidity around other girls.  Before and
after school and during gym, the boys would gather and pool their
intelligence on the girls, liberally salting their accounts with
exaggeration, complete lies, and inept psychological analysis.
   It was a relief to discover, through Alex, that the girls were
following much the same procedure.  For my sister was my secret weapon
in that first, tentative confrontation between the sexes, and I was
hers.
   "One of the guys claims Liz Nowotny almost never wears panties to
school," I might remark hopefully.
   Alex would giggle in delight.  "Well, she must change in her hall
locker then!  She wears fake satin underwear in gym class!"  Sometimes
there would be a bonus: "She also pads her bra with tissues!"  Which I
would then report back to the trenches on the boys' side of the field,
adopting a knowing smirk if someone demanded documentation.
   Within a few months, Alex was also enrolled in the dating game.  If
a boy asked her out whom she was uncertain of, she often came to me for
a background check.  I don't believe I was ever really jealous of the
fact that my little sister was out at night, holding hands in a movie or
making out in the back seat of a car.  She was all mine at home, after
all.
   She seemed to have much the same attitude.  We were unnatural allies
in the genetic competition.  We teased each other remorselessly about
our dates, but we also were willing to betray our same-sex friends to
spare each other social disaster and personal humiliation.
   "Tommy Thatcher?!  Alex, don't you know that every girl he even
manages to hold hands with, three hours later he's bragging he screwed
her or at least felt her up?  And he tells every guy in school!"
   Or, "Why would you even *think* of asking Eileen Zimmer to a pool
party?!  Nobody's ever even seen her knees in the locker room, she's
such a prude.  If she even *owns* a swim suit, I'll bet it has long legs
and sleeves and a full skirt!"
   And so we managed to save ourselves from most situations of
potential public embarrassment.  There was a positive side to our
information exchange, too.  If my sister told me that a girl I was
planning to ask out loved to collect hickeys in unusual places to show
off to her friends, then I would make an effort to be creative.
   And when Alex went out on a tennis date with Brian, a reasonably
intelligent jock I knew from math class, I informed her in advance of
his admiration for girls who weren't afraid to compete with him; he
abhorred simpering "lil' ol' me" types.  So she played the game hard and
worked up a real sweat, and although Brian won the match, it wasn't by
much.  He stopped me in the hall the next day, grinning and shaking his
head.
   "That's some sister you got, man!  Really a neat girl!"  I could
only agree with him.
   Since Alex and I had tacitly agreed long before that we could tell
or ask each other anything, our dating experiences led to more intimate
dialogue.  We began to relate our discoveries and blunders to each other
in detail and to compare interpretations and perspectives.

                          *   *   *   *   *

   One Sunday night when it was uncomfortably warm and humid, we spread
a comforter on the floor in my room and lay on our backs in front of the
laboring window air conditioning unit, I in my briefs, she in her red
rayon bikini panties -- a recent acquisition which demonstrated her
growing confidence about herself.  We lay like starfish, limbs
outstretched and overlapping, trying to stay cool.
   Alex was absently trailing her fingernails lightly over my chest and
shoulders, creating a delightfully shivery sensation.  When we were
alone together these days, the need for physical contact was almost
overwhelming.
   I needed to tell her about my date the night before, which had not
been a notable success; I wanted to understand why.  And, as usual, Alex
made it easy for me.
   "So, how was your date with Susie Ellis?"
   "Awful!  She'll never go out with me again."
   I regretted it, too.  Susie was not only a very cute little blonde,
she was also bright and articulate.  I valued intelligent conversation
on a date, along with the kissing and groping.
   "When I put my arm around her in the theater, she liked it; she even
leaned over toward me on the arm rest.  But when I took her home and
tried to put my arm around her so I could kiss her goodnight, she went
stiff as a board and practically shoved me away!  I see her in class
every day, and she's friendly enough then.  What did I do?!"
   Alex chuckled sympathetically.  "I think in the movie she felt safe
because there were a lot of other people around; in the car, she was all
alone with you."  Alex glanced over and saw that I wasn't getting her
point.
   "You probably don't know this," she continued, "but last year Susie
was attacked by some creep, an older man, in the parking lot at Sears. 
He pushed her into a car and started grabbing her tits and stuff before
she could scream.  Artie and a couple other guys heard her and ran over
to help, but the creep took off and they couldn't catch him.  Anyway,
Susie's still afraid of being alone with a guy, I think.  So it wasn't
anything you did, really."
   The next Friday night, I ran into Susie at the football game and we
sat together in the stands and rah-rah'ed together and laughed together
... and I was careful not to touch her.
   Making our way slowly out of the packed stadium afterward, I invited
her for a coke and offered to include a ride home.  She glanced over her
shoulder at me and hesitated a moment, but then she smiled and accepted. 
We gossiped and chattered about inconsequential things over our fountain
drinks for half an hour, and Susie relaxed in my company.  And I still
kept my hands to myself.
   When we arrived in front of her house, though, her smile suddenly
seemed frozen with tension.  I set the hand brake and immediately hopped
out and went around to open her door for her.  She looked surprised and
relieved, and as I walked her slowly up the winding flagstones to her
door I kept my fingers hooked in my back belt loops.
   "'Night, Susie; I really enjoyed it.  See you in Math tomorrow,
okay?"  I turned to go but she reached out and touched my arm.
   "Michael, wait..."  I turned to face her again.  Now her eyes and
her lips said she thought she was willing to be kissed, but I still
waited.  It had to be her own decision.
   "You're really a nice guy..."  She twisted her hands together and
bit her lip for a moment, undecided about how to proceed.  Then she
looked up at me from under her lashes and said in a soft almost-whisper,
"Would you kiss me...?"
   I smiled my most trustworthy smile and held her chin still with one
finger laid carefully along her jaw line.  Do it slowly, don't grab, I
told myself.  I leaned forward and pressed my lips firmly against hers. 
No tongue, no nibbling.  Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed a little
as she leaned into the kiss.
   She was basically a friendly person; she wanted to like people.  I
knew she was relieved to discover she could overcome her lingering
fright, to find that she could again enjoy this wonderful human contact. 
And that was what I intended her to feel.  Susie was a very nice girl
and it really bothered me that the assault she had undergone also had
separated her from boys who liked her and who meant her no harm at all. 
We broke contact slowly and before I straightened, I brushed away the
tears shining on her lower lashes.
   "It's okay, Susie," I said softly.  "I know you always have to be
careful, but not everyone is a son of a bitch."
   She swallowed and nodded, quickly kissed me once more on the cheek,
squeezed my hand, and slipped through the door.  I walked back to the
car, hands in my pockets, feeling pleased with myself and pleased for
Susie.  It hadn't been a completely unselfish act, I knew that well
enough, but it was still the right thing to have done.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 1993 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted
elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~