Infatuation Ch. 01

She just narrowed her eyes. "What were you doing standing outside my door?"

"Outside your door?" I echoed stupidly. "Oh ... right. I was ... um ... I was going to see if ... if you wanted to watch some TV." At the time, I thought it was a brilliant notion. But if it was possible, Jemma's eyes narrowed even further.

"I amnot watching TV with you."

"But ... there's a good movie on," I protested, as she began pushing me from her room. She made sure to turn me around first and pressed her palms flat against my back. It was nice, but I wanted to stay rather than leave, so I continued to protest. "Might be a good drama or something. Or those infomercials – they're always interesting. We don't even have to watch TV. We could play a board game. I mean, come on, how long has it been since we played Monopoly?"

"Good night, James," she said pointedly, and closed her door in my face. The sound of the wood slamming shut pretty much mimicked the sound of my heart exploding. This wasn't fair. She couldn't just give me a glimpse of her body and then expect me to go cold turkey. Okay, so it wasn't exactly her choice to let me see her naked, but it had happened anyway, and to deprive me of further viewings was just plaincruel. Didn't she know what this could do to me in the long run? I could develop all sorts of repressed psychological problems. And that wasn'thealthy!

In the end, I was forced to give up, and slink back to my room with my cock between my legs. My bed felt extra rigid that night, and the air inside my room extra stuffy. I told myself to get up and watch TV if I couldn't sleep, but that would be just as dull. Spending more time with Jemma was the only thing preferable to my current situation. There was her, and then there was everything else. That always happens when you become besotted with someone; theonly thing you want to do is be around them, so that you don't miss a moment of their life. Everything else just seems like torture.

I was thankful for my insomnia though, because if I hadn't stayed awake all night, I wouldn't have heard Jemma leaving her room around two in the morning. I did though, and I followed straight away.

The house was dark and – I don't mind admitting – a little spooky, but I told myself I was a fearless, eighteen-year-oldman (not a boy) and plunged into the gloomy kitchen. I almost leapt out of my goosebump-covered skin when I saw Jemma. She wasn't doing anything strange, nor did she leap out at me – I was just startled to see a pale, white figure standing amidst the hazy darkness. I think she noticed me at the same time.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed angrily. I thought that was highly unfair: I hadn't said a word yet and she was already annoyed with me.

"I'm getting a glass of milk," I replied innocently. I had intended to say water, but after seeing that Jemma was drinking milk, I made a quick ammedment to my words. I recovered the bottle of milk from the fridge and poured myself a full glass, hoping that it would give me an excuse to remain in the kitchen for as long as I needed to, which basically meant as long as Jemma was there.

Did I mention she looked particularly beautiful in the moonlight? Yeah, I know, beauty and moonlight make for the biggest cliché, but she seriously did look gorgeous. Her white top and whiter skin gave her an almost ethereal appearance, as though she was not quite real, not quite human. And against that pale backdrop, her copper-coloured hair, which fell halfway down her back, looked like the softest length of silk. Not as soft as her skin though, or her lips, which looked as though they wouldn't even break the surface of water. So yeah, she looked beautiful. Her mood though...

"I swear to God, James," she said sternly, "if you don't stop following me...."

"I'm notfollowing you," I replied resentfully. "I just came down for a glass of milk. Like I said."

"At theexact same time I did?"

I shrugged. "It's not unusual, really. We're just so alike. Maybe our bodies are in sync."

Jemma's incredulous snort actually made me feel stupid. I had no idea why I was saying these idiotic things, but they seemed to come out of my mouth of their own accord.

"Give me a break," she said, and possibly rolled her eyes while she said it. I couldn't be sure though.

After that, she tipped her glass back (which put her in a very sexy pose, by the way) and drained the rest of her milk. "Well," she said, putting her empty glass in the sink, "have fun."

"Hey ... wait," I said, taking a step to the side so that I blocked her escape. She raised her eyes mutinously and gave me a very "This better be fucking good" look. It took me a few seconds to get my voice box to work. "You know, seeing as we both can't sleep," I said, almost cringing as I heard my own voice, and knowing it wouldn't end well, "why don't we watch some TV?"

Jemma opened her mouth to reply (presumably angrily), then closed it again. For a shocking moment, I thought she was actually going to consider my proposal; then I realised she was just doing that thing where you start to reply, then stop and take a deep breath, and then reply in a different way. I think it's meant to show the other person that you're barely keeping your temper in check. Well, that, or you're an asthmatic.

"I never said I couldn't sleep," she said slowly, regarding me with a level gaze. "I'm going to bed."

And with that she pushed (pushed!) past me and headed towards the stairs. "Hey, wait," I cried. "Jem!Jem!" But as I reached the door, I stumbled and spilled some of my milk. "Bugger," I said to myself, remembering that I'd poured a full glass. So I tossed the whole thing back, with some difficulty, wiped my chin and the tiles and hurried upstairs after Jemma. Her door was shut though. Again.

Damn it, I thought despondently, and went to mope in my room. Oh, and I masturbated because I'd seen her in her pyjamas again.

The following day was a Saturday, or, as it would hereafter be known to me, 'the day after the greatest day of my life'. But that was long, and hard to say, so I decided to call it Saturday instead.

When I woke up on this 'Saturday', I found that I'd come down with a serious case of morning glory, which needed to be alleviated post-haste. The only problem was, I wanted to see Jemma first, so that I'd have something to – you know – help me along. So, even though I slept in my pyjama bottoms only, I fetched a pair of tight underwear from my drawer and slapped them on for the time being, thus making it safe to go outside. I also pulled on a T-shirt before leaving my room.

The first thing I did was to see if Jemma's door was closed. It wasn't, which meant that she was already up, and possibly out. So I ran downstairs to see if she was in the kitchen, or the lounge room, but met with no luck.However (and that's a significant however – you have to say it in a pompous tone of voice), Idid see both my parents, and even managed to discover that Jemma hadn't left the house. So I fled back upstairs with a strange idea in mind, and sure enough, the bathroom door was closed. I think I actually rubbed my hands together.

Yeah, you can pretty much tell what I was thinking. The first word wasyaba, the second wasdaba, and I'll let you guess the third. So, being the peerless actor that I am, I started to yawn, and rub my eyes and pretend I wasn't quite awake, which set up a good pretence for walking in on my sister a second time. I knew she'd be pissed, and I knew this would only confirm her suspicions, but there was no way in Hades I was going to pass up this opportunity. If you'd shackled me to a wall, I would have gnawed my feet off and crawled into the bathroom for a tiny, fleeting glimpse. Then I'd probably collapse from blood loss and – on the plus side – get a nice look between her legs from my crippled position. She might even give me mouth-to-mouth! Hey, I'm sure it's a viable method for curing amputation.

Anyway, back to the business at hand. The business being the doorknob and my hand being ... well, my hand. So I twisted the knob quickly, before Jemma would have a chance to cover herself with a towel, and pretended to stagger in. Can you possiblyimagine my dismay when I saw myfully clothed sister standing in front of the mirror, brushing her hair? It was horrifying!

I opened and closed my mouth repeatedly in an effort to speak, but Jemma beat me to it. "Morning," she said cheerfully, and continued to brush her hair.

"M– morning," I replied, still taken aback by this strangely un-naked version of my sister. Something was terribly wrong here. I did manage to regain my senses eventually, however; at least enough to feign an apology. "Sorry," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I didn't know you were in here."

"That's okay," said Jemma, putting down her hairbrush and giving me a brief smile. "It's all yours." And then she walked out. Just like that. Walkedright out.

"B– but," I stammered, trying once more to formulate a convincing and coherent protest. She was gone though, and suddenly the bathroom seemed like the most boring place on Earth. I needed to shower though, and come, so I did both in about five minutes and then went downstairs.

I stood in the kitchen, which is, I suppose, the hub of our house, and craned my neck to see if I could locate Jemma. It didn't look as though she was in the backyard, and she wasn't with my parents in the lounge room. The study door was open and I could see that she wasn't at the desk, and, unless she'd concealed herself in the pantry, she wasn't in the kitchen. I did check the pantry anyway though.

Finally caving, I decided to ask my parents. "Where's Jem?" I inquired casually.

"She went out, dear," my mother replied. I quickly ducked out of the room before she had a chance to accost me with a new idea for mother-son bonding.

So Jemma was out, and I was here, alone (my parents didn't count) and miserable. It was so unfair of her to just leave. I knew she was doing it to spite me. She was probably laughing with her friends about her horny little brother who was going to a colossal effort just to get a glimpse of her naked body again. And her friends were probably all ugly and straight-bodied, with nothing like the soft curves that Jemma had. No one could have a body like Jemma's.

Well, that was enough to get me going again, so I splattered an old towel and then decided to shave. It was only when my face started to burn as though it had been dipped in hydrochloric acid that I realised there was a car in the driveway. I shrugged my shirt back on and peeped out the window, hoping no one would notice me. Hanging around outside the car (but not really loitering) was Jemma, two boys and two other girls. Some of them looked familiar, some didn't, but I knew that this was her clique – her circle of friends, to put it in Care Bear terms. The first thing I noticed was that the guys weren't all that. They weren't evensome of that. They were just regular, lose-'em-in-a-crowd kind of guys. The girls were the same, but definitely not ugly. Jemma though, was a gorgeous dove among crows. A succulent strawberry among prunes. A Gummi Bear among liquorice. I found myself sighing just from looking at her.

Unfortunately, I coupled said sigh with a dramatic, chin-on-the-palm gesture, with my elbow leaning on the windowsill. And what happened? I smacked my forehead on the glass. It didn't break, of course, because I'm not that bigheaded, but it reverberated with a loud thrum and caught the attention of the crowd below. Luckily, I managed (I think) to whip my head back before any of them noticed me. But as I massaged my sore head, I could distinctly hear Jemma saying, "I'll see you later guys," in an "I have to go inside and kill my brother" kind of voice. I should have been scared – I should have been terrified – but I felt only anticipation at seeing Jemma again. Or maybe it was only the pain in my head that stopped me from ruing the day I was born. Who knows?

Anyway, even though Jemma did come back inside, and looked a little miffed when I saw her, she didn't say anything to me. Not just about the window incident, but about anything. She was ignoring me again. Or at least I thought of it as her ignoring me; in truth, she was behaving in exactly the same way she always had towards me. This was our usual, brother-sister relationship, but it was no longer enough for me. I wanted to have Deep and Meaningful conversations, to trade gossip about our friends, to pick wildflowers in the park. Why did she insist on keeping her distance? Was she afraid to open up? Did she have trust issues? Why couldn't sheloveme!

So, as you can see, I was pretty insane by then, but I knew I could never rest unless I got another look at that perfect, flawless body that was now haunting my dreams. I didn't care if I couldn't touch it, or do anything with it – I just wanted to look at it.Stare, might be a more accurate term. I wanted tostare at my sister's naked body all day long. God how I wanted to stare at her!

But Jemma wasn't making that easy. In fact, I had an inkling that she was actually trying toprevent it. Which was just plain mean, to be honest. I mean, I'm supposed to be her brother. Didn't she know how important family was?

My attempts to see her naked again were matched, in effort, only by her attempts to prevent me from doing exactly that. She seemed to enjoy doing it as well: squashing all my hopes and dreams with one sinister smile. A lesser man would have given up, a nastier man would have decided to hate her – but me? I just kept on trying with a commitment that would have made Bruce Lee proud. I mean ... you know ... if he had condoned the act of trying to see your sister naked. Which he almost certainly wouldn't have.

But I digress ... again. And you're all anxious to know what happened to the dopey boy and his gorgeous sister. Well, maybe I won't tell you, if you think I'm so 'dopey'. But then that would defeat the purpose of everything I've written so far, so I'll keep going. But don't think it's because I like you!

So anyway, you're wondering how I tried to see my sister naked again? Well, admittedly, I didn't put much thought into a plan, I simply tried to wake up around the same time she did and get a nice look at her recently-awoken body. It wasn't naked, but it was something. Aside from that, I tried to spend more time with her; a strategy that she thwarted as immediately as she had the first time. I never gave up though, and soon it became like a game. Seductionis a game, after all. And I'm sticking to the idea that what I was doingwas seduction,despite what anyone else might say.

It was exactly a week after I'd laid my humble, undeserving eyes on that oh-so-glorious sight that I came up with a definitive plan. It wasn't foolproof (in fact, a fool could easily have worked around it), but I thought that if I relied on Jemma's blind adherence to her daily bathroom routine, I could pull it off. After all, this had happened tome several times, and I was no fool. You heard what I said.

Anyway, what I did (and this is so fiendishly clever it may very well boggle your mind) was to wake up evenearlier than Jemma, creep into the bathroom, and take the last clean towel off the rack. I know – it's brilliant. But leave your adulation aside (for now), so that I can finish telling the story.

As I said, I was going to rely on the assumption that Jemma (like myself) neglected to check if there were any clean towels in the bathroom before she hopped in the shower. If this was true, then bingo! Naked Jemma all round. Well, just for me actually, but that's all that matters.

So, after removing the last towel, I crept back to my room and sat back against the door, listening for Jemma's footsteps in the hall. Twelve minutes later, at 7:03, I heard her door open and her soft, superhuman footsteps augur her arrival in the bathroom. The door closed and I held my breath.

About then, it suddenly struck me how perverted I was being, and how much trouble I should get in for doing this, but I reminded myself that even Jemma was enjoying the game, and this whole wicked obsession I had was really a compliment to her, in a roundabout way. So I kept a steady mind, and listened anxiously for the sound of the shower. And it came! It came! Oh, it was wonderful. I could hear the pipes buzzing with the water flowing through them and the sound of the stream hitting the shower floor. She wasin the shower, and when she got out she would find herself distinctly towelless. Didn't I tell you it was a brilliant plan? And you didn't believe me.

So, in order to fully reap the benefits, I went and sat outside the bathroom door, and waited for about fifteen minutes. Once that time was up, I heard the water stop, the door slide open and thepat pat of Jemma's feet stepping out of the shower. I was longing to see those feet again.

I fancied that I could actually hear, or sense, her confusion. I pictured what she was doing and, in doing so, brought a very wide smile to my face. I was a little off with the timing, but shedid eventually open the door and stick her wet head out. The look on her face when she saw me was priceless.

"You little shit," she said, with – surprisingly – some admiration in her tone.

"Nice shower?" I asked, unable to suppress my grin. I knew it was an unspoken rule to remain nonchalant when we played our game, but it was becoming harder and harder.

Jemma sighed. Even the bare shoulder and wet hair that I could see was inflaming me beyond reasonable belief. "Can you get me a towel?" she asked. "Please."

"You didn't say the magic—" I began, then recalled her words. "Oh. You did say the magic word." I pushed myself to my feet and sighed ostentatiously. "Fine. I'll get you a towel." And so I ventured off to the linen closet and selected the smallest towel I could find. She wouldn't be getting it that easily though. When I got back to the bathroom, I knocked on the door and called to her. "Jem? Do you want your towel?"

"In a minute," she replied, causing me to frown with confusion. I couldn't imagine what she'd be doing. Unless... But no. But she might...No!

I sat back down against the wall and waited, knowing that my moment of glory was only sixty seconds away. Sixty small seconds and I'd get to see my sister in all her wonderful nakedness again. And this time I might even tell her how amazing she looked.

Now, try to comprehend theenormity of my horror when I saw the door open and my sister walk through itfully dressed! I blinked several times, tried to splutter an indignant complaint, and then finally decided I would be better off standing up. "H– how...?" I demanded feebly.

"You'll have to be quicker than that," Jemma replied with a victorious smirk.

"But..." I went on, at which point Jemma walked down the hall to her room, with atowel in her hand! And it hit me: the fact that I'd taken too bloody long to get her towel, and that in that time, she'd ducked into her room and retrieved one of her own.

Damn it, damn it, damn it, I yelled silently, and barely restrained myself from putting my fist through the wall. Which Icould have done ... if I'd wanted to.

So that was the last straw. Another plan thwarted, another hope crushed... It was time to mope. And that's what I did, all day long, in my room, with only my pillow for company. I don't think my pillow liked me very much though, considering what I used it for. So I threw it on the floor.

I was so bloody desperate to see Jemma's body again, and just to get to know her better, that it felt like a physical pain inside my chest. I clutched my stomach for hours and tried to forget that stupid image which had caused me so much excitement and disappointment.