Better Off Together

She stiffened awkwardly. It seemed to me that she was conflicting as to whether she should remain where she was sat, opposite me on the same couch, or to get up and go. I couldn't figure her out. 'I think I'm just frustrated and taking it out on you. I'll stop.'

What was I to make of that? Now I had to put down the book, and once I put down the book I had to focus my attention solely on her and to try to figure her out without the aid of the kind of questions she was always putting over to me.

'You know you don't have to be my sister all day every day,' I suggested, meaning that she didn't have to worry about boundaries or treading on eggshells.

I couldn't tell whether she understood me or not when she replied with, 'I'm trying not to be.'

Was she? And how could she even begin to take her very obvious frustrations out on me, brother or not - the last imaginable target for her sexual tensions? It put me in a position to forget myself, though.

'Thank about what you aren't saying very carefully,' I suggested.

Her eyes widened and then intensified their returning gaze, a hard, unbelieving glare. 'How the fuck do you do that?'

'It doesn't matter,' I dismissed. 'Just be careful of what you're *not* saying. Or just fucking say it all,' I concluded.

She fidgeted with her fingernails. Her eyes also concentrated on her fidgeting fingers very hard, with a creased and troubled brow. 'I just get stupid ideas sometimes, thinking that we're just better off together. Do you get me?'

'I've said many a time, I'm happy to have you,' I said again.

'But that's not what I mean...'

'No shit!'

'Maybe we'd be better off,' Kerry said and shrugged wildly. Hint-face! Just when I thought that she was repeating herself without knowing it, it turns out that she had used the word together, each with a different meaning. 'Do I have to spell it out for you?'

'You might,' I said dumbly. I was struck utterly stupid, like someone had cracked my head open with a spoon and given my brains a stir. Kerry bit her lower lip and carried that anxious look into an impregnable silence where I waited and waited.

'Forgetting that we're related,' she finally said, and the unease in her voice concerned me.

8

Considering what was being hinted at that evening, and yes I did hear right when she reiterated what she was saying, to say that I was startled would be an understatement. Did I lose my mind, or panic, and keep my little sister at a distance? No, I made my excuses and said I'd think about it when I was in the right mind, which might have been never!

But that night I did sprawl out on the couch and invited her to snuggle up with me and I made sure to tell her that I loved her and cared about her. I made sure that she knew that I wasn't scared of her. I did what I could to make her know that. Not far from my mind was the possibility that she meant "here and now" rather than some day in the near future.

Our closeness came at the risk of a little awkwardness that night and I sensed her stiffness against me, just the slightest bit of tension within her, as her face drew nearer to mine. But no matter what, at least then, I wasn't about to kiss her like I'd forgotten that she was my sister.

9

We had made a habit of snuggling up together on the couch to watch television on the lazier nights. By then the awkwardness had faded and was replaced by the awareness of other things, such as the shape of her body against mine and the sleepy heat that generated between us.

It didn't arouse me, even though I now knew that she would sleep with me if she thought it would make us happier together, but the heat often left me being the one experiencing a little stiffness. Still we would talk, but the closer together we got, it was reduced to small talk. You couldn't talk at the usual rate without blasting each others' faces with hot air and inappropriate noise. So we spoke quietly and less often and often found each other just gazing.

I enjoyed it a lot and so did Kerry. We were content just moulded together and inhaling each other. The casual terms of endearment happened more often though, and the more they did, the more the fondness in my heart became something more intense.

"I love you, you ridiculous twat!" she would say.

"And I love you, you crazy big titted bitch!" I would reply. You know, the usual...

Just like with the click of a finger, our cosy little existence was threatened the day when she told me that her ex wanted her to give him another try. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I was furious but I bottled it all up tight because I didn't want to scare Kerry into his arms. He'd only use her again. No matter what, no dog that ever learned its lesson stopped being a dog anyway. He just settled for less than his heart's desire, and continued to medicate with sympathy pussy.

'He's just going to use you again,' I told her. 'He couldn't even look after you like I do. Why would you want to go back to him?'

'Because I'm tired of being alone,' she said.

'You're not alone,' I reminded her. 'But I suppose I'm just too safe and boring for your liking.' That last part had her grinning like an idiot and ironically calling me the idiot. 'Well so fucking what?' I asked.

'I'm fucking horny, that's what,' she grumbled.

'Oh yeah, that! Forgive me for somehow recalling what I never cared to remember, but didn't you say he had an average penis and barely the sense to use it?'

'I might have,' she replied uncertainly. 'What of it?'

'No girl I know is desperate enough to repeat these mistakes.'

'And how many girls do you know, exactly?' Kerry stated her defence case.

'One,' I said confidently, to which she tittered childishly. 'And that really narrows down the odds of me being right. Don't prove me fucking wrong!'

'Yeah I'm gonna need the house Saturday afternoon,' she said regardless. So back to step one we went!

10

INCIDENT AT CRACKED CUP COFFEE INC.

Back at my least un-favourite cafe that Saturday I was sat in my usual corner, drinking my third coffee and reading a book about the horrifying experiences of soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan - you know, light-hearted reading - and I was able to drown out the pretentious banter of the disturbing number of hipsters with their fake regional accents. Yes, I don't like them very much!

Conveniently the following is a short account that supports the reasons why I shouldn't. You do what you like, though.

So I was sitting there with a four-seater table to myself, and there were still a few empty chairs about the place, when a couple resembling the ones giving me funny looks the last time pull up and ask if the table's taken.

I look them both in the eyes, not uninvitingly, just passively, and correct what I believe the gentleman was trying to ascertain. 'The table's taken, yes, but you're welcome to sit here. I don't mind...'

The gent, who's wearing a very loose tea-cosy over his head, hiding almost everything but his designer stubble and square doorstep chin, neither thanks me nor acknowledges what I said in its entirety, and he and the woman with him sit down and begin to talk amongst themselves.

I am forgotten. This is all I ask for. I go back to reading and drinking my coffee, when two minutes later another fellow joins us, squeezing between me and the wall at my back to get in without attempting to apologise or to ask me if he can get past.

However, the table has now filled up to capacity. It gets noisier and it's a little harder for me to concentrate on my book, but I persevere. Then another brings a chair and seats himself at the end of the table, effectively blocking me in, and with all the noise around me I now have this chubby ginger fellow to my left, in dire need of either a shower, some anti-perspirant, or both, shouting across the table just to involve himself in the conversation.

I give the gentleman and the woman a cursory glance. I'm hoping my eyes say it all in the split second it takes for both of them to look away. I finish my coffee and try to read on for another ten minutes.

What I really need is to go piss. So I leave my book in place, on top of my seat, and I go piss. When I get back, there's another person sat at the table, in my seat. I'm not surprised in the slightest. Before I get back to the table to find that it's just a misunderstanding, I know that it's not going to be a misunderstanding.

'You're in my seat,' I say to the balding bespectacled fella in the green lumberjack shirt. He squints at me like I'm an inconvenient blotch in his field of vision. He tries to ignore me without even acknowledging that I'm speaking to him. It seems they all have shit in their ears these days.

I repeat myself. 'You're in my seat. You must have seen the book sat in my place. My cup is right in front of you.'

Nada.

Now the people around me are getting uneasy, but everybody around this table is trying to pretend that I'm not there. I can see the ginger kid is starting to get antsy. If nobody answers me, he's gonna be five inches taller due to the mountain of shit in his pants.

'Stop talking,' I say. I take my empty coffee mug in hand and in a sudden downward arch, I hurl it at the wooden tabletop with force. The porcelain shatters every which way. The woman yelps like a surprised little dog. The room goes silent and yet nobody protests. The strangers at my table are caught out and speechless in that moment.

'What the fuck did I say to you?' I ask tea-cosy. 'This table is taken. I welcomed you to sit at my table, but that doesn't give you any reason to push me out.' I turn back to baldy but now the cafe's staff are on my case and trying to make me leave. 'You, where's my fucking book?' I growl, accepting that this is the way it has to be. I'll leave, when I get my book.

Squinting, he nervously reaches down to the floor beside him and comes back up with it, dog-eared and bent out of shape. By the looks of things, not only has he thrown it down there without even caring where it came from, he's been using it to keep his feet busy.

'Take your fucking book,' he says and flings it at me. It hits me in the head and bounces off, hitting the tabletop. I don't even blink. 'You weren't in this seat. It's fair game.'

There's another empty mug sat on the table. Without a moment's notice it's curled up in my fist and I'm diving across the table to knock the fucking taste out of his mouth. I might never drink there again, but he'll never sit in my seat again wherever I happen to be.

11

So I came home early without even thinking. The last thing I wanted was to be hanging around town if the police were looking for me. I quietly let myself in and went to the kitchen to wash the blood off my hand. The gash wasn't terrible. It didn't need stitches, just a wash, some Vaseline, and a plaster.

I wasn't even paying attention to anything but the rumble of blood in my temples. I wasn't fighting mad, but I was mad at myself for losing control. I just wanted to keep the negative thoughts and feelings out of my head. People avoiding being rude cunts really improves my chances.

With a cold can of coke to ease the burn, I slowly headed upstairs when it hits me. The time was just past four. I said I'd be gone until about half five. I could all of a sudden hear a very distinct sound on the air. Kerry, my sister, was making no effort to disguise her moans of delightful pleasure. I was not supposed to be home yet, after all.

I felt dizzy and sort of displaced, like my senses had retreated within and my inner self had flown out of my body. Her bedroom door was closed, but rather than hastily walk by - and my god what I'd have given to be in the sack with a girl who moans as sweetly - I had to remember which floorboards under the landing carpet were the creaky ones, because they led straight under her door. One false move and she'd be freaking out, and rightly so.

I didn't want her to know I was there at all. What if she was with him, her twat of an ex?

Now on my tiptoes, like some comical cat burglar, I was trying to pass by the door to Kerry's room, heading towards my own. The sounds of her pleasure were getting to me because, fuck me, she had the kind of vocals that could make a guy come alone, used just right.

There's a porn star in particular, name of Lisa Ann, who's the dirtiest bitch alive, but she moans like a sweet innocent angel. This was what I was hearing and I was coming over all funny, trembling with the slightest release of adrenaline.

Finally I got past the door and crept towards my room. My own door was closed...

I didn't remember closing my door on the way out...

12

I quickly and quietly swung open the door, following through with my weight to try to prevent the door from creaking, and so I could open it and close it behind me in one fluid motion. Before I realised that the sounds of my sister being pleasured were actually coming from within my very own bedroom, I was frozen in place, my mouth hung agape, still grasping the doorknob and yet going nowhere fast.

She was stark naked but for a pair of pink ankle socks on her feet and the lower late-afternoon sun filtering through the partially closed blinds of my bay windows painted her in a dream-like golden glow. But there was no time to linger, as in the very moment I saw her, she saw me.

Kerry had one foot up on the computer desk, and another hung over the arm of my leather executive chair. Jesus she had a lush body; milky, heaving, perspiring breasts; soft white belly; long smooth legs...

And the way she'd been working herself with that buzzing pink vibe!

Now she was screaming, almost mortified, and I was yelling "wowwww" over again as my hands failed to work the door. I was transfixed by her nakedness, surprised by my own sudden hardness, and as we locked eyes I apologised and escaped.

Why I escaped to her bedroom instead, was beyond me. Now I sat at the edge of her bed laughing to myself, with one hand over my mouth to stifle the sounds. I was somewhere between hysterical and delirious with horror and excitement.

'I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,' I could hear her panicking from my room. It continued as she rushed in to find me sitting there. She was wearing one of my t-shirts now, way too big for her, and yet barely hiding her upper thighs. 'I'm so sorry...'

'Shut up, it's fine,' I resigned, standing up.

'I was just...'

'Yeah I saw the fine details already,' I said, avoiding eye contact now. It didn't stop me from sensing the massive cringe that caused. When she asked what happened to my hand, I came to realise that I was bleeding again. The sticky wetness ran down my palm. 'Arseholes happened, Kerry!' I said angrily, then; 'Why my room? I was trying to avoid you knowing I was here!'

'I was... yeah, why are you home early?' she tried to change direction.

I held up my wounded hand. 'Arseholes happened, Kerry!' And again; 'Why my room?'

The tears practically exploded forth. 'I'm sorry,' she cried and repeated herself, getting more and more worked up until I buried her deep in my shoulder and forgave her.

It wasn't long until I found out, but not from my sister. I left her alone, promising her that everything was fine. We all do silly things and the simplest plans are never foolproof, after all. Returning to my room, my first instinct was to shut my laptop down, because in her rush Kerry had forgotten to cover her own tracks.

It was a revelation for one thing to find Vporn up on the screen, but specifically viewing a video titled "Gave My Incredible Hot Sister a Creampie". It was something else, and greater reason to panic, when I realised that I had bookmarked this same video months ago. How many times that day was the bomb going to drop?

I sat back in my office chair and breathed in the scent of my sister's sex. My room was humid with it. She must have been here for hours. Then as I looked around the room for a distraction, any distraction at all, I certainly found one. The pink dildo vibe lay discarded on my bed, evidently slick with the juices of her arousal.

What a day! What an endlessly ridiculously fucked up motherfucker of a day! But damn I wish I had a photo of Kerry fucking herself silly in this very chair. My heart was palpitating wildly and my dick was so hard seeing her like that. I needed a woman!

13

We never spoke of the nature of the video I'd caught her watching and maybe that was for the best. All cards up front, we were both as guilty as each other. If I wanted an explanation I'd have had to be ready to give one. We settled amicably for a limited low simmer of embarrassment and a slight absence of conversation; which all lasted but a few days.

I was just glad that she hadn't settled for her ex. Sometimes your own right hand was the party to bet on, and in this case that was true. She didn't need him. She didn't need to live with the belief that happiness didn't rely on respect and trust.

That's all that mattered to me and I just wanted her to be comfortable with herself. Again I was trying to be more her mother about it - I suppose nurturing her into understanding that there was nothing wrong with her current state of being - and otherwise just relying on my usual neuroses and childish jokes to get us through.

But what I missed in those days was the closeness between us, because I had scared her away, or she had scared herself away; humiliated by the experience. Thankfully that returned soon.

One night I was in need of a good sprawl-out on the couch, no electronic distractions, just a little relaxation and contentment. Kerry walked in the room, having been playing X-Box upstairs. She just looked at me for a moment, and I couldn't deny how adorable she still looked in her snug white cotton pyjamas.

'Join me,' I invited sleepily. There was a slight moment of hesitance, by about a thousandth of a second, before she made her way to me. I budged over a little, getting twisted up in my t-shirt and lounge shorts. Now she was lying next to me, one knee against my upper thigh as a hand tugged my t-shirt free.

We were just looking at each other for a while. It was too easy to fall into her big round green eyes, the way they looked up to me sometimes. Kerry had cats' eyes, so often ambiguous and otherwise straight to the point. She could either claw me to death or purr me to death. I don't know what she saw in mine to make her like that.

I'd heard before that there was a six-second rule about looking somebody in the eyes. Stare for long enough and it either means that you're either about to kill someone or fuck.

'We should go out sometime,' I said, and then reiterated, 'sometimes...'

She cleared her throat and then softly asked, 'why?'

'Like wing-buddies,' I suggested. 'Like we go out and help each other get what we want, when we want it, and watch each other's backs. That sort of thing...'

Her lips curled downwards - not a big fan of the idea I guessed. But then, 'I'm happy here for now. It's like my big brother says, "who takes care of you like I do?"

The urge was coming, my heart expanding. It was going to overwhelm me sooner or later. I had to ask but I only meant it innocently. I smiled and asked her if I could give her a kiss. Straight-faced as anything, she nodded and carefully tilted her chin up, inviting me to her subtly pouting lips.

Just the slightest touch, like a butterfly kiss, I parted her with, and she returned it. I breathed deeply, drawing closer and wrapping my arms around her. And again I planted another light kiss on her lips, and another. We breathed each other in, up close and eye to eye.

'Do you know what you're doing?' she whispered back. I took it as a negative and tried to pull back, but she latched on, moving with me; no distance gained.

'I just kissed you is all,' I said weakly, not knowing what to expect.