Sister is a Showoff Ch. 02

"I don't get it," she said.

"I'm going to film you, and I'm going to tell you to take your clothes off, and I'm going to ask you to shake your tits and stuff, and just act naturally. People will pay for that!"

"And that's all it takes to be a porn star?" she asked.

"I guess," I said.

"Okay," she said, "I'm game."

"I'm going to talk to you like you aren't my sister," I told her. "Like I don't know you at all, really. We have to pretend."

"Why?" she asked.

"It's for the viewers," I said, "There's probably some kind of suspension of disbelief thing if they think the guy ordering the model around is just talking to his own sister."

"Yeah, I guess," she said, "I like when you call me a model, though. That's hot."

"Okay," I said, pressing the record button on my shitty little camera phone, "Action!"

There was a moment or two of silent awkwardness before I realized that as the camera operator and director, I still was a part of the scene. So for a few seconds Britt just stood there, smiling genially at first and then sheepishly, before it finally occurred for me to speak.

"Okay Brittany-"

"Cut," she interrupted me.

"What?" I asked.

"Take two," she said, "You used my real name. You're supposed to use my model name."

"Well what's your model name, then?"

"Lusty," she said, "Lusty Minx."

"Okay then, Lusty," I said, still shooting the same footage, "What makes you want to get into adult modeling?"

Britt smiled wide and bounced on her feet, which in turn made her tits bounce gloriously. She was still in her loose-hanging crop top and her little athletic short shorts, but it didn't seem like she had a bra on underneath.

"I like to show off," she said, "It gets me hot knowing that men are turned on by me. It makes me feel in control. I like feeling in control, and I really like to fuck. It's just perfect for me."

"Wow," I said, actually surprised at her answer. "Do you think you'd feel comfortable showing off here?"

"Yeah totally," Britt said, casually slipping her top off over her head. "I don't mind."

She actually was wearing a bra, it turned out. Or at least what maybe passed for one. It was a tiny garment, loosely tied in back and around her neck, with barely enough fabric on it to hide her nipples. It did nothing to contain the beautiful swing and jiggling of her huge tits.

"What are you wearing?" I asked, "Is that like a bikini?"

"Yeah, I guess," she said, "Or a bra, or whatever. I don't know. I got it back at the club."

"There's a hot tub here, you know?"

"Oh really? That sounds fun. I wouldn't want to get this wet though..."

With that, she reached back and untied her top around her neck. Its straps fell down limply, exposing her beautiful breasts. I had to remind myself to keep the camera focused, so strong was the urge to reach down and adjust my cock. I could feel it growing already, and it was getting uncomfortable tight inside my short pants.

"You don't mind that this is a public gym? Anybody could come by at any moment."

"You said you locked the door," she said.

"It's pretend, Britt, Jesus Christ."

"You just said my name again! We have to start over."

"Fuck it," I said, "I'll edit it out. Just keep going. Tell us how you don't mind if anybody walks by."

"I don't mind if anybody comes by," Britt said, returning to her character as naturally as if she'd never broke it, "I've got a great body. Let them enjoy the view."

"You certainly do have a great body," I said, imitating the camera guys I heard in the porn I watched for research only, "We gotta see more of that, baby. Turn around."

Britt did as she was told. After that, we kind of fell into the roles pretty naturally. Through the camera's lens I was able to more or less dissociate myself from my familial relationship to her, to pretend she was just an image before me under my control than my flesh-and-blood sister. It was the woman on the screen who, at my command, would drop out of her blue athletic shorts to show me her panties (there were none to speak of); she would jiggle the cheeks of her ass for me while I brought the camera extra close up. She did nude lunges when I asked her, bench pressed an empty bar, spread her legs extra wide on the hip adductor machine for the benefit of my zooming digital lens.

She described to my aloof cameraman character in detail the first time she shaved her pussy. Told stories about sucking her first dick. Explained the speed at which her breasts grew into the full luscious melons they'd become (about a cup size, year by year. I'd suspected as much).

She worked up a sweat running a naked lap and doing light butterfly lifts on the semi-inclined bench that made her breasts take marvelous shapes on camera. She seemed all ready to take me into the shower room with her, but then just at the last minute right at the door stopped and turned to me.

"Didn't you say there was a hot tub?" she asked.

And I said that of course there was, and she made me follow her like she knew where she was going and made me watch as she dunked herself under the water very quickly, only to emerge naked, soaking wet and glistening royally with sweat and condensation from the steam and still dripping from her brief soak. Streaks of light highlighted the heavenly pertness of her large breasts, the flat tightness of her abs and tummy, and the hairless slit of her beautiful innie. She dropped down waist deep in the water.

She was glistening wet, soaked with sweat and the warm bubbles of the hot tub. The lens of my cell phone camera was fogged. She leaned back, and just the flesh of her areolas was exposed to me.

"That's a wrap," I said jokingly.

"Good," she said, "That was fun."

"A good time was had by all."

"Yeah..." she said, "Are you sure you don't have to fuck to be a porn star?"

I don't know if I was conscious of my seduction or not. I don't know when I knew it was going to happen. But I was already out of my shorts, and when I stepped into the hot tub with her and she raised her ass to meet my approaching erection I was barely drunk and hadn't even taken a pill. And while I fucked her I realized that our relationship had become one of casual sexual convenience, and I didn't know how I could ever properly express that I still loved her as a sister.

We sent the video in, and they thanked us for our entry and even sent us a couple of bucks, but said it wasn't the quality they were used to producing and invited her in for an audition. I imagined the perv in casting to be quite pleased with himself. I politely declined, and didn't show Britt the email.

***

It was probably a weekend, and Joel was I guess at a wrap party for some kitty litter infomercial or something ("You can't even smell the poo," he said), when Britt came home with the strange guy. And she was so excited about it, too.

"Look who I found dancing at the club!"

And where I was expecting some Chad Thundercock, instead she showed to me the withered old husk of Toby Gibbons.

"I guess they just let anybody dance these days," I said.

So Toby was an old businessman from back home, where he owned a little chain of gas stations called Gibbons Gas. My dad was actually a manager of one, and we knew him personally from office Christmas parties and the such. He did pretty well for himself running with the slogan 'We Gibbons You Gas!' because no one is ever above a well-placed fart joke.

He was a plump-looking and wrinkled old man, keen-eyed and liver-spotted, in a suit too tight and with an occasionally silver tongue. He behaved as if he were unaware of his losing ground to the battle with male pattern baldness.

"Howdy," he said, his hands fidgeting as if they were desperate for a cowboy hat to remove and fiddle with.

"Um," I said, "Howdy, Mr. Gibbons."

"I was just watching out there on the old Internet and I found your girly video. I had no idea you was in the business of making pictures! And then I thought, 'Hell, I'd pay for more of this!' And that makes good business."

"How did you find us?" I asked.

"He heard my name on the strip club circuit!" Britt squealed, "I'm really getting famous, Ricky!"

"The strip club circuit?" I asked, "Do you just know all the strip clubs?"

"I don't know all the clubs," he insisted, "They all know me. I'm a good customer, reasonable and fair."

And occasionally rowdy, if you believe the rumours.

"You want to give her money?" I asked.

"No," he laughed, "I want to finance her. For filmmaking."

"Filmmaking how?" I leered at him.

"I don't know," he said, "I'm just the financier. I got myself a producer, he lives in Florida, he says he wants me to fly you out there so he can shoot you. He's got a script he wrote his own self, swears it's going to be huge."

"Why doesn't he just come here?"

"For certain legal reasons, I think he's prohibited from traveling out of state. Plus if you film the pornos here, they make you wrap your noodle. Nobody wants to watch a man pork his own sister with his weenie wrapped."

"Ain't nobody got time for that," Britt chimed in.

"Why do I have to go?" I asked, "I'm just the manager. I'll manage just fine from here."

He really looked truly desperate for a hat to hold onto.

"Well," he said, "My producer, he says he's really in the market for... 'incest' porn. He says it's real big. And he says he thinks he can lock up a good little niche for himself if he markets... well... what you'd call 'the real deal'."

"There's a market for us Ricky!" Britt squealed.

"You want me to be in the movie?"

"He sure does," Toby said.

"Will you do it, Ricky?" Britt asked, "Will you do it for me?"

I paused. Even though I'd grown accustomed to being casually sexual with Britt, and conveniently so, I had no interest at all in further branding myself as 'that guy that fucks his sister'.

"I'm not really sure about this," I said.

"I understand," Toby said, rising, "I'd have to think too if a rich man offered me money to fly to Florida and fuck a beautiful woman. Must be a real puzzler. I'm in town for the weekend. We'll fly out Monday."

'That guy who fucks his sister for money' I guess had a bit nicer ring to it.

***

As soon as Gibbons was out the door, Britt was squealing with excitement.

"I'm so excited!" she literally squealed, "I'm going to be famous! Who should I call?"

"Nobody," I said. "I'm not sure I even want to do this. I don't want to be famous."

"What? Why?"

"I don't want my Facebook friends knowing I stuck my Jimmy in my sister. I really want to have Facebook. And friends. You know. Eventually."

"Are you stupid?" she asked, "It's porn. Nobody cares whose Jimmy the dick is. It's their dick. It's the dick of the people. We would be blessed to have porn dick serve as our president."

"But I think he said that's the whole point of the thing," I argued, "That's how they want to sell it. This is a porn about me fucking my sister. And that's all kinds of fucked up."

"But it's going to make me famous!" she protested, "They have a budget. They have producers and directors and lighting guys. They have wardrobe-"

"What the fuck budget do you need for wardrobe in porn?" I interjected.

"They're going to make me look good, Ricky," Britt pleaded, "Nobody's going to call me a potato in this one."

"No one called you a potato," I rejoined, rubbing my eyes, "They said it looked like it was filmed on a potato. You obviously always look good."

"Do you really think so?" she smiled.

"Yeah. I do."

"Then why don't you want to fuck me?" she frowned.

"I don't," I said, "I mean, I do. I don't know. I don't want to be a world-renowned sister-fucker. That's the kind of reputation that stays with you."

She smiled. She nearly broke into a laugh.

"Well too bad," she said, "You already are."

She actually pointed and she was very near laughing. I felt humiliated, worthless, and all kinds of turned on

"Who should I call?" she repeated. "I know, I'll call Lauren."

I never imagined Lauren mattered to her that much. That she mattered more than I. I was spuriously hurt that I could be so callously dismissed.

***

I didn't even realize that Joel hadn't come home for the night until he actually did come home the next morning, stupid early, with his shirt buttons misaligned, reeking of booze and pot, and with a permanent marker penis on his forehead I'm not sure that he was aware of.

"Oh man," he droned into the abyss of my headspace, "I had an incredible night."

Brittany stirred but she didn't rise. I rolled away from her, tossed my legs over the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands. I was not yet immune to hangovers.

"It's too early, man," I said. "I can't deal with it right now."

"No man, it's totally okay," he said, "I brought coffee."

I groaned, but I was awake, and coffee was the only cure I knew for the warbles I was waking up with when I probably drank too much. So I took the take-out cup he offered me, and cringed at the cream and sugar people ruin their coffee with every day. But still I drank it down.

"So I was at the Kitty Litter wrap party," Joel began explaining unprompted, "Which was fine and quiet, you know, skeletal crew and stuff. But then, because it's Hollywood, they were just passing out free cocaine and booze. And then people there are all getting excited, they're all talking about people they know, they're bringing us to clubs and after-parties and post-after-parties, and everyone says 'Oh, you just have to meet so-and-so,' and I met the perfect so-and-so."

"You're like six weeks younger than I am," I complained, "How the fuck are you getting into Hollywood clubs?"

"People know me, man," he said, "They call me the man from the Glad commercial. I told them I'd spill anything on me they wanted." He paused a moment, as if in thought. "That was probably a bad idea."

"Is that why there's a dick on your forehead?"

"If there's a dick on my forehead, it's not even close to the grossest thing they spilled on me."

"Man, my sister is trying to get into porn and her story isn't even anywhere near as humiliating as yours is."

"Doesn't matter," Joel said, "I'm moving up in the world. I met this casting agent last night, and he was totally into me. He said he was on the lookout for a cheap and up-and-coming young actor to sign quickly into an emergency reshoot for some TV show about vampires. He had a contract with him and everything. He tried to sign it with blood from his own cocaine nosebleed."

"That is a disturbing piece of good news," I said, "Why do they need a new guy for a reshoot?"

"That's the best part!" Joel said, "The guy who originally had the part overdosed and died at a wrap party last week!"

"Um... wow?"

"I know, right?" Joel said, "The season's already started airing, but my character doesn't show up til the last episode. They have to call all the cast and crew back together to shoot later next week. It's all real expensive, except for me, because I agreed to work for scale."

"Wow," I said again, "I guess I never thought somebody overdosing and dying would be such good news."

"Me neither, man," he said both excitedly and in awe, "But that's Hollywood."

"So you're going to be a vampire?"

"Nuh uh," he shook his head, "I'm going to be a werewolf. The casting agent said I had a natural predatory aura. He said I struck just the right balance between attractive and creepy."

"I guess that's kind of a compliment."

"It's the right kind of compliment!" he nearly shouted. Then he was shaking violently in his seat, and he jumped up and shouted at the top of his lungs, "I am an animal!"

"God," Britt yawned, "Shut up already."

"You really should calm down," I told him. "Have a drink and get some sleep."

"I can't go to sleep now!" he protested, "I've got to call Lauren. It's probably almost daylight where she is."

"You're still talking to Lauren too?" I asked. "What the fuck, man? Why, even?"

"I don't know," he said, "She's my friend."

"Why is everybody talking to my girlfriend except for me?" I demanded.

"You're asking the wrong question," Joel said, returning to his seat. "Why aren't you talking to your girlfriend?"

"Bingo," Britt breathed in her sleep.

I rubbed my temples and lay down across the bed. Britt crept away from my head when it landed near her. It wasn't entirely by design that I hadn't spoken with Lauren since she left for school, but it's not like I had really extended any effort. I had a pounding headache, and suddenly it felt like my teeth were raw from gnawing on a bullet that only needed biting. I could hear the grinding in my head, and it was too early, and when I opened my eyes Joel was standing over me, grinding his teeth and looking down on me like a madman.

"I think I will take that drink, though," he said. "Time for a nightcap."

"It's not even seven a.m.," I said.

"Perfect."

***

A car actually came for Joel, no shit, around mid-afternoon. So while he was out learning the actual legal value of a contract signed in blood, and while Brittany was shopping for the cutest new outfit to strip out of, I made my own deal with the Devil and signed up for Skype and called Lauren. When you call out, it rings just like a phone.

It was a while before she answered, but then she appeared before me on my tiny laptop screen, and I was suddenly reliving ten years of looking at her through our bedroom windows, and although I was quietly furious with her, the trip down my memory lane tugged me on my heart strings, and I realized how painfully I missed her.

"Hey Ricky," she said excitedly, waving at me through the camera, "How've you been? I miss you."

And even though I wanted to say it back, and for everything to be just comfortable like it was before, I just couldn't.

"I've been good," I said, "Weird, I guess. How about you?"

"Good," she said, "It's good to hear from you."

"I know," I said for some reason.

"Do you like my shirt?" she asked.

"Yeah, whatever," I said, because I was being a moody Judy.

"You didn't even look at it," she protested, "I picked it out special for you. Do you think it makes my boobs look big?"

And stubbornly surly as I was determined to be, she was right about the shirt. I hadn't seen it on her before, or at least it didn't look familiar. And she was looking remarkably chesty for her petite frame.

"Yeah," I said.

"Right? I mean look at this!" she was gesturing at her chest, pushing her tits together, "It's like I'm actually getting cleavage."

She was turning me on, and between my latent rage and my burgeoning erection, something had to give.

"Why the fuck did you fuck Joel?"

"What?" she asked, "What are you talking about? I didn't fuck Joel."

"Yeah right," I protested, "He told me. I heard all about your bullshit 'revenge sex tape' idea. Real fucking classy, Lauren."

She looked at me incredulously, raising her eyebrow in a way I jealously wished I were able to.

"You fucked your sister on camera for the whole world to see, and you have the nerve to call me 'real fucking classy'?" she used her mocking voice when she quoted me, which was both infuriating and irresistibly cute at the same time.

"Regardless," I said, "I mean, come on. You've got to be pretty low on the caste system if you're letting Joel into your pussy."

"Joel is a petulant whining weirdo with a tiny dick and erectile dysfunction, as far as I'm concerned," she said, "I mean, he couldn't even get it up to try and revenge fuck me. For a while, I was legitimately convinced that he was gay."

"That's...um," I said, "Well, I mean, he seems to like you quite a lot."

"Yeah, I know," she said, "I like him too."

"But..." I prompted her.

"But he's a petulant weirdo with ED. I know what I said," she said. "It made me really self-conscious for a while, thinking that I couldn't even coax a weirdo virgin to give me a revenge fuck."