textfiles/sex/EROTICA/S/sibed05.txt

Archive-name: Family/sibed05.txt
Archive-author: Michael Kalen Smith
Archive-title: Siblings - The Early Days - 5

                 From SIBLINGS -- a novel in progress

                          ("The Early Days")

                        [...from chapter 5...]


   My sister and I always followed our own rules in our increasing
sexual involvement -- which mostly meant my being patient and sticking
to an unwritten, probably unknown schedule that she could deal with. 
Unfortunately, because she had become used to my gentle patience and my
willingness to work around her occasional nervousness, Alex seemed to
expect the same from all the boys she went out with.
   It was her fifth or sixth date, I think, when her optimistic
assumptions got her into trouble.  It was one of those rare Friday
nights when Alex had a date but I didn't.  I'd had a bad head cold for
several days, missing school and staying home in bed to enjoy my misery. 
The cold was about gone by Friday, but I was still recovering and not
feeling great, and my makeup homework was stacked up on my desk, so I
stayed home.
   Alex was out at a movie with Allen Somebody from one of her classes,
a guy I didn't know except that he played basketball on the junior
varsity squad.  About 10:30 that night the phone rang and since I knew
Mother was already asleep I put down "Oliver Twist" and answered it.  On
the other end was Alex, sounding very tense and upset.
   "Michael?  I'm so glad it's you!  I'm in trouble.  I mean, I'm not
hurt or anything -- but I'm stranded and could you *please* come and get
me?  I'm by myself and it's pretty dark here and it's making me
nervous."
   She told me the intersection where her pay phone was located; I
recognized it and remembered that there was a convenience store nearby. 
I told her to go into the store and stay there, and I'd come as soon as
possible.
   I was still in my jeans, so I hauled on a tee shirt, grabbed my
loafers and my wallet, and trotted quietly downstairs.  I hopped on my
moped, coasted down the driveway, popped the starter, and took off.
   What in the world could have happened?  Alex sounded like she was on
the verge of tears, not so much from fright as from anger, and she had
her control clamped down tightly.  She had said she wasn't hurt.  Had
she been in a wreck?  If so, where was her date?  I would have been
embarrassed for myself had I slipped into a state of panic -- but I
admitted that my anxiety level was increasing.
   Alex saw me pull up to the curb in front of the store and came out
to meet me.  She looked all right, composed and smiling.  But as she got
closer and saw the concern on my face, the smile crumpled and she threw
her arms around my neck and pressed her face against my shoulder, nearly
knocking me off the motorbike.  She wasn't very coherent; all I could
make out was "That son of a bitch!"
   I stroked her hair and held her for a few moments.  "Alex, are you
sure you're okay?  You're not hurt?"
   "No, I'm NOT okay," she sniffed, "but I'm not hurt.  Please, let's
just go home!"  She climbed on the back of the bike, gathering her full
skirt between her knees so it wouldn't get caught in the chain and kill
us both.  We buzzed off and she held me tightly around the waist and
pressed her cheek to my shoulder blade, which felt nice.  She had calmed
down on the surface but she was still upset, and I wanted badly to know
why.
   I waited until we were back upstairs and Alex had kicked her shoes
off -- clear across the room -- and had sat down on her bed.  Her head
was down and her hands were in her lap, fidgeting.  I leaned against her
dresser, tried to assume a sympathetic expression, and said, "So...?"
   My sister looked younger than usual; I thought it might be because
she was still a little scared.  But why wasn't Allen Whoever in the
picture somewhere?  She took a deep breath and looked up at me
unhappily.
   "I'm sorry I had to holler for help, Michael, but I'm glad you came
and got me.  I thought about it on the way home, and I guess it was
partly my fault--"
   I interrupted.  "Alex, what are we talking about?  Why don't you
just start at the beginning?"
   "Yeah, okay.  Allen Stone asked me out -- he's in my history class
-- and he's nice-looking, and the girls I asked said he was okay, so I
said yes.  We went to a show, and then for ice cream, and he *did* seem
nice.  A little too full of himself, maybe, but a lot of the guys I know
are like that."  She gave me a quick 'exception' smile.
   "Then he asked if I'd like to go up and see the view from Pilot's
Point -- you know, where the kids with the expensive cars go to park. 
He was driving his father's T-Bird.  I thought 'why not?'  I can take
care of myself.  So we went up there and parked -- and then he kind of
changed.  I just wanted to make out a little, you know?  But he wanted a
lot more than that!  Oh, God.  He's too strong and I had to fight him
off, and he scared the hell out of me.  I mean, we kissed, and I let him
play with my tits a little -- but I kept my clothes on.  But then he
pushed me down on the seat and pulled my skirt up, and he got my panties
part-way off, and I couldn't struggle because he was on top of me, and I
couldn't even yell or anything because he kept kissing me so hard,
and...."  She ran out of breath and the tears were coming and her voice
was shaking.
   I moved quickly to the bed and sat and held her, and stroked her
back, and she clung to me.  Her tears were on my neck and her fingers
were squeezing my shoulder.  I was angry, and getting angrier by the
second.  When she calmed down again she continued her story, but she
didn't let go of me.
   "I finally got one hand loose and held the horn button down, and he
quit because people were looking at us from the other cars.  Then he
called me some terrible names and drove me back, and I was scared all
the way!  He took me as far as that corner, which was the first pay
phone he saw, and told me to get out of the car."
   I hugged her, meaning to comfort her, but she flinched and gasped
slightly.  I sat back abruptly and looked more closely at her.  "Alex,
are you *sure* you're all right?  Did he hurt you?"
   She snuffled a few times and stood up, silently unbuttoning her
dress and dropping it (and her half-slip) to the floor around her
ankles.  There was a purple and green bruise across the upper part of
one breast, half-covered by her bra.  Another bruise spread across the
inside of her thigh.  And her panties were torn completely open across
the front, held up only by the elastic.
   My fists clenched and I felt myself begin to shake.  My sister was a
very sexy girl and she was correct in that she had had plenty of
practice looking out for herself.  But no frustrated date had ever
assaulted her before.  She was very adept at sending out the right
signals, and most guys will accept that whether they like it or not. 
But this Allen Stone wouldn't accept "No."  And he was going to pay for
it.
   I took Alex in my arms again, carefully this time, and we stood and
held each other for a few minutes.  It was almost midnight, but what I
had to do wouldn't wait until tomorrow.  I led Alex into the bathroom
and urged her to run a hot tub and soak for awhile.  I'd be back.  She
looked at me with some apprehension as she undressed.
   "Michael, don't do anything stupid -- please?  He's a lot bigger
than you are."
   I smiled reassuringly and went back to my room and looked up Allen
Stone in the school directory.  Then I dug out my leather jacket.  It
was meant to keep out the cold when I was out on my moped at night, but
it was also enough like the classic black motorcycle jacket to afford
some physical protection as well.  I added the heavy, hard-toed shoes I
used for hiking and climbing.
   Then I dug through my odds-and-ends drawer and located the
thirty-inch length of coaxial cable I had found on the side of the road
a year or two before, probably scrap dropped by some line crew.  It was
an inch of spiral copper strands wrapped around a solid core, with a
thick, hard, black rubber covering, and it had a satisfying heft.
   I slipped quietly out the back door and coasted my bike a short way
down the block before revving the motor.  I hoped Alex hadn't heard me
leave.
   The Villain lived about half a mile away and all the way over there
my mind kept replaying images of Alex's bruises and torn underwear.  I
wasn't shaking anymore; my anger had escalated to a cold, hard rage that
planted a dull throb behind my eyes.  I was not yet sixteen and I was
prepared to commit murder, if necessary.
   As I buzzed up the short street Stone lived on, I saw immediately
which house I wanted: There was a jazzed up Mustang parked in the drive
next to a white T-Bird.  A bulky-looking character was leaning against
the fender of the Mustang, drinking out of a can.  I stuck the
cable/club into the back of my jeans and coasted to a stop ten yards
away from the guy, who was watching me curiously.  I could smell the
beer and I noticed three empties lined up on the trunk lid behind him.
My sister seemed to be losing her taste in dates.
   I walked a few feet closer and stopped with my hands in my jacket
pockets.  "You Allen Stone?"  That coldness in the front of my brain was
making me foolhardy.
   His eyes flicked up and down, measuring my height, which was a bit
less than his, and my weight, which was considerably less.  He was about
seventeen -- two years older than me.
   "Alex is my sister.  You beat up on her, you son of a bitch!"  I
wished, at that moment, that I owned a revolver.
   The guy stared at me uncomprehendingly for a moment before my
identity clicked.  Then he sneered.
   "She's a fuckin' tease.  I should have slugged her.  And what are
*you* gonna do about it, kid?"  He didn't know it, but he was at a
psychological disadvantage.  This was just a game to him, but not to me.
   "What's the matter, asshole?  You can't beat up on anyone but little
girls?"  I put one hand in my back pocket and took a grip on the club
with the other.  Stone's eyebrows lowered and his face got red, and he
took several quick steps toward me, still holding the beer can.
   "You little punk!"
   Make him come to me, I thought -- especially when he isn't expecting
a fight.  He reached for the front of my jacket but his hand was still a
foot away when I yanked out the length of cable and swung it overhand. 
I brought it down as hard as I could on his wrist.  He yelped in shock
and startlement and dropped his beer.
   While he was still standing there clutching his numbed wrist, I
brought the cable around in a backhand and, by sheer luck, caught him
high on the side of the cheekbone.  He stumbled back and held up both
arms to protect himself.  From the way he favored his injured wrist, I
thought I might have broken it -- with any luck.  That would keep him
out of basketball for awhile.
   As he moved back, I stepped in.  He hadn't expected this attack at
all and he certainly wasn't prepared for it; if he had been, he'd be
pounding me to a pulp right now.  The beer was on my side, fortunately,
because he wasn't reacting intelligently.
   I pretended I was kicking off in a football game and caught him
solid and hard in the crotch with my steel-capped toe.  His mouth opened
but no sound came out, and the blood disappeared from his face.  He fell
heavily to his knees, clutching his balls -- crushed, I hoped -- then
hunched over and vomited stale-smelling beer all over his driveway.
   Since his head was already down, I switched from football to golf. 
Getting a firm two-handed grip on my club, I swung it up into the
creep's face, hitting him squarely under the jaw just as he started to
raise his head.  His teeth clacked together loudly and his head snapped
back.  All my hours of swimming practice had made me stronger in the
shoulders than I looked.  I stepped back as his eyes rolled up and he
slumped sideways into his own puddle of vomit.  Very appropriate, I
thought.
   I prodded him a couple times in the Adam's apple with the rough end
of the cable and he gagged as he returned to partial consciousness.  I
poked him again to get his attention.
   "That was for Alex, creep.  If you ever come within five feet of my
sister again, I'll kill you."  I didn't scream or threaten; I spoke
almost conversationally.  Perhaps it was the cold, calm tone of voice
that made him look at me as though he believed me.
   "And if you decide to come after me to get even, or if you send your
friends to beat me up, you'd better make sure you kill ME.  Because if
you don't, you're dead.
   "Listen carefully: My sister is the most important thing in the
world to me.  Where she's concerned, I really don't *care* what happens
to me.  You might say I'm a little insane on the subject.  I'm prepared
to commit murder, if necessary.  Are you?"  From his expression, I was
sure he believed me now, which was the first smart thing he'd done this
evening.
   "Just so you won't forget," I added, and suddenly raised the club
and smashed it down across the center of his face, flattening the
cartilage in his nose.
   He'd have a splint on it for weeks; let him try to explain that to
his buddies.  Beaten up by a kid two years younger and probably thirty
pounds lighter.  But he was clutching his nose with both hands, retching
from the pain, and staring at me like I really was crazy.  And I
probably was, for a while there.
   The entire encounter had taken less than three minutes and made very
little noise, and the street was still quiet.  And I had learned some
valuable lessons.  Let them underestimate you and then take them by
surprise.  Then, hit 'em first, hit 'em hard, and kick 'em while they're
down.  When you're outnumbered or outsized, that's the only way you have
a chance of winning.
   I quickly wiped the bloody end of the club on the grass and stuck it
behind my back again.  Then I climbed on my moped, started it up, and
headed for home without looking back.  Halfway there, though, I had to
pull over to the curb for a few minutes, to stop shaking.  I had gone
through the entire incident on automatic, and now the adrenaline rush
was catching up with me.
   I coasted silently into our driveway, parked by the back door, and
slipped inside as quietly as possible.  Alex was dozing on her bed,
sprawled on top of the comforter.  She was wearing one of my old sport
shirts, unbuttoned, and I gently opened one side.  Her bruises had
deepened in color but they didn't seem to have swollen much; probably no
cracked ribs or anything.  The blue on her breast had gone purple and it
made me angry all over again, that her body had been abused so.  Alex
stirred and her eyes flickered open.
   "I tried to stay awake," she yawned.  "You went over to see Allen,
didn't you?  What happened?"  She struggled to sit up, grimaced, and
pulled me down beside her instead.
   "Are you okay?"  She searched my face anxiously for evidence of a
fight.  But I didn't intend to tell her, in any detail, what had
happened.
   "We had a little talk.  I think you and that creep are even, now. 
He's not going to bother you anymore."  Her expression was full of
questions, but she sensed that I wasn't going to talk about it, not yet.
   "Why don't you pass the word around among your girlfriends about
that guy?  Show them your bruises.  His potential dates ought to be
warned."
   She looked solemnly into my eyes a little longer and when it became
obvious I wasn't going to say anything more, she took my head between
her hands and kissed me long and seriously.
   Then she flashed that loving smile and murmured, "I usually *can*
look after myself, Michael.  But when I can't, I'm glad you're there to
take care of me.  I love you..."  Then I settled her in bed and pulled
the covers over her, and by the time I switched off the light she was
asleep again.
   And as I climbed into my own bed a little while later, I thought
over the incident and wondered if I really *would* have killed Allen
Stone, given a weapon and the opportunity.  And I finally decided 'Yes'
-- I would have.  It was a useful thing to know about myself, both good
and bad.


   We almost always walked home from school together, so on Monday
afternoon I met Alex out in front of the main building, as usual.  She
was wide-eyed and gave me a strange look.
   "I saw Allen in the hall after Third Period -- and he saw me and
turned around and went the other way.  He had a cast on his wrist, and a
plastic splint on his nose, and a very black eye!  What *happened* the
other night?"
   I didn't think she sounded displeased, but I felt uncomfortable
under her questioning stare.  "Was he walking kind of funny?" I asked. 
"I kicked him in the nuts, too."
   She blinked at me and said slowly, "Are you telling me you beat up
on Allen Stone?  Michael, he's a LOT bigger than you are -- you could've
gotten hurt bad!"  This was becoming embarrassing.
   "Well, he wasn't expecting it.  Neither was I.  And I don't have to
fight fair.  Alex, it was partly luck, and yes, I could have gotten hurt
-- but I didn't."
   I slung my book back over my shoulder and started across the street. 
Alex found herself hurrying to catch up.  I was trying to avoid further
discussion, but she wouldn't let go of it.
   "Michael, wait a minute!  Why would you DO something like that?"  I
stopped and looked her in the eye.
   "Did you look at yourself in the mirror the other night?"  She
nodded slowly.
   "Alex, when I saw the bruises he put on you, and the way he ripped
your clothes,... well, I got angry.  I mean *really* angry.  I couldn't
stand the thought that someone would do that to you."  I lowered my
voice.  "I went over there with a weapon.  I was going to kill that geek
if I had to."
   She couldn't decide if I was serious.  "You would've *killed*
somebody because of ME?"  Her voice had risen almost to a squeak. 
"Michael, I can't believe that!"
   I set down my book bag, took hold of her biceps, and gave her the
most serious expression I could muster.  "Believe it!  Alex, you have to
understand how I feel about you.  Yes: I WOULD kill to protect you. 
Don't ever doubt it.  And if it were a choice between you and me, I'd
die for you, too.  That's just the way it is, okay?  I know it sounds
melodramatic, but it's the simple truth."
   I picked up my books again and set off at a slower pace.  Alex
matched my stride and glanced over at my face several times.  Finally,
she took my arm and squeezed it possessively.
   "I'm sorry, Michael.  I didn't know.  It scares me a little, that
you feel so intensely, but it feels good, too.  It makes me feel
secure."
   I smiled back at her.  Now she understood.



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