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* The Beginning: Nine years ago *
I suppose I should start at the beginning. Well, it was the beginning even though I didn’t know it at the time. I was eleven years old and like any other child that age, terribly upset when mom decided to marry Jonathan. Looking back at it now I think it was really childish of me to be so upset. After all, mom had waited almost 10 years after dad died before she took the step.
I know now that it was because of me that she waited so long but at that time it seemed to me that she was being selfish. She and Jonathan had found love almost as soon as they met but dated for almost five years before mom said yes. And, a few months later I was so happy that she did. An eleven year old has a right to change her mind!
Not that I ever had anything against Jonathan – I should call him Dad now. I remember seeing him often when mom and he were dating. He came home sometimes and was always caring and affectionate. The affection was real and he wasn’t just pretending to like me to impress mom. I discovered how much after he married mom. I’ve grown to love him deeply and he’s “Dad” with no reservations or qualifiers. I don’t think my real dad would have loved mom and me any more. Which is what makes this whole thing so difficult.
I first met Daniel a few weeks before mom and Jonathan got married. He was 19 but looked older. I remember there was a lot of tension around the table that evening. Jonathan was angry for some reason, mom was apprehensive and Daniel’s expression ranged from indifferent to uncomfortable to angry. The dinner ended with him and Jonathan arguing about something and mom trying to mediate. I didn’t understand the reason for the fight. It just kind of erupted.
On my part, I liked Daniel. He had this amused smile on his face that made you feel he could look into your soul with his deep green eyes. He was tall, about 6′ 2″, and with his long brown hair and stubble he looked like a rock star. I remember being fascinated by the tattoos on his arms that disappeared over his shoulder and under his shirt.
Mom said later that he had turned out bad but I found that difficult to believe. Even in the middle of being angry with dad he managed to smile and wink at me. After reconciling to getting a new dad, I already liked the idea of having an older brother, especially one like Daniel.
The next time I saw Daniel again was at the wedding. He had shaved and groomed his hair and looked strikingly handsome. I remembered hoping he would remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves so I could see his tattoos again, but it didn’t happen. I had told all my friends about his tattoos, and we all stared at Daniel throughout that day. We were constantly breaking into giggles because he knew and he often looked at us and winked. I saw the older girls look at him with bright flirtatious eyes; I know now what that look really means. At that moment I was just so proud that he was my brother, even if only a step brother.
I didn’t see Daniel much even when mom and I moved into Dad’s house. He was rarely at home although I saw him hanging around in the parking lot outside Sainsburys with his friends. I had heard enough about him by now, most of it pieced together in snatches of conversation between mom and dad, that I was wary of climbing the flight of stairs to his room at the top level.
He always had a pack of gum or candy to slip into my, his baby sister’s, hand. He never ever called me “Sam” like Dad and mom or “Sammie” like my friends, it was always “baby sister” and although I didn’t like being referred to as a baby it felt nice, special in some way. Daniel was always nice to mom too but somehow Dad always managed to get him angry. I never understood it then and still don’t now. Jonathan is the most loving and caring parent one could have but Daniel resents him with a vehemence that shocks me.
I loved him even more when he came to my defense that awful day. It had been raining and was getting dark when I walked back from school. I was shocked when something wet struck my face. It stung and I looked around to see a used condom lying near my school shoes. I felt something sticky coat my fingers as I rubbed my smarting cheek. I was still shocked by the unexpected violence of being smacked on the face, when I heard the laughter.
Two older boys, who I knew vaguely from school, were standing there and laughing.
“You fucking Paki,” yelled one of them.
I began running, as fast as I could. I turned the corner and ran past the Sainsburys parking lot, tears in my eyes, sobbing. I didn’t notice Daniel and his friends until he ran after me and caught me.
My body was racked with sobs when he asked me gently, “What happened baby sister?”
I couldn’t speak for a few seconds and he hugged me all that time , whispering gently.
“Easy baby girl, easy,” he stroked my hair. “Tell me what happened.”
I gathered my voice and pointed down the street behind us and mumbled, “Those ataşehir escort awful boys .. called me Paki .. threw a condom.” I burst into tears.
Daniel just nodded but there was a hard expression on his face that scared me and sent me into another burst of crying. He hugged me close and walked me home. Mom and dad were not home and he helped me wash my face. He made me a cup of hot chocolate while I changed my clothes and sat at the edge of my bed until I fell asleep.
Daniel was arrested a few days after that. Neighbors looked at me and whispered as I walked home after school that day. There were cars with flashing lights outside our home and cops in the living room. Mom rushed me into the kitchen and made me a sandwich and then went out to console dad whose voice was choked.
I woke up early the next morning, to read the paper before mom and dad woke up. Daniel and some of his friends, the paper called it a gang, had beaten two school boys to pulp. One of them was in hospital fighting for his life with broken ribs and a collapsed lung. The other had a splintered jaw. I trembled as I read the news story. There was a picture of Daniel in handcuffs and a big bruise on his face. His friends were never identified but Daniel had just kept punching the boys even when the cops arrived.
Daniel never told dad, or anyone else, why he had done it and the secret of my involvement in the episode remained buried deep in both our hearts. I went to see Daniel in prison a few years later. I wanted to say something to him, tell him that unlike dad and mom I hadn’t written him off. But no words came out. We sat together in silence for 20 minutes, holding hands. I was crying silently, and he sat there with a stern, slightly embarrassed look on his face. I knew he understood what I had meant to say.
I never went back to see him, partly because he asked me not to but also because it was too painful to see him in those prison clothes surrounded by claustrophobic steel bars. We never wrote or phoned. I wouldn’t have known what to say to him.
* Five days ago *
I came back from college for the holidays. I worked out an extended break with my doctoral guide and planned to spend time catching up with mom and dad. I love coming home and I know they like it too. But I wasn’t prepared for what happened on Friday night. Daniel called one night from prison to say he was being released early and asked if he could come and stay in his old room for a week while he looked for a job and another flat. Mom and I stared at Dad not sure of who he was talking to and why his face had turned white.
Dad mumbled into the speaker, incoherently, “Yes.” He sat frozen for a few seconds after he hung up.
“Danny’s coming home,” he looked at mom and said in a choked voice.
Mom got up and sat next to dad holding him. I couldn’t even begin to describe my own feelings. A crazy mix of excitement, overwhelming guilt and a warm feeling of love. I gave dad a hug, leaving him and mom to gather themselves and went up to my room to be with my own thoughts, glancing up the stairs to the locked door to Daniel’s room.
* Yesterday *
I woke up late after a wonderful night out with friends. I had gone to the theatre with Karen and her husband David. They are older but treat me as equals. David is a brilliant city analyst and loves to make fun of my impending doctorate. I’m proud of being one of the youngest ever PhDs but Dr Sam (as David loves to call me) still leaves me flustered. Anyway, we chatted and we drank and David called a taxi to drop me home at some 3 am.
The first thing that entered my mind when I awoke was that Daniel was coming home today. I knew I was going to be alone when he came. Mom had suggested that dad stay home but he gruffly said that it wasn’t important enough for him to rework his calendar.
I stretched languidly, thinking of Daniel, his lazy smile and the way he used to call me baby sister. It brought a smile to my lips. But then I thought of how I had seen him last surrounded by guards and bars. I wondered what he looked like now, what 8 years in her majesty’s prison had done to him. And whether he held me responsible for the waste of his life.
I shook my head clear and kicked the covers away. Jumping out of bed, I immediately began my 15 minutes of yoga. I slept in the nude and often, like today, chose not to dress up before my yoga. I am not the kind of person who works out vigorously but I like to stay in shape. I am naturally petite, about 5’4 and less than hundred pounds with brown skin typical of my Indian origins. I do have uncharacteristically small breasts, 32b, but I’ve never been ashamed of them. I cupped them casually, one at a time, as I brushed my teeth and was amused by the aroused hardness of my nipples. I noticed the sparkle in my eyes and realized how excited I was.
I walked down the carpeted stairs quietly, caught up in my own thoughts and came to a sudden halt at the foot of kadıköy escort bayan the stairs. Daniel was here! Standing there looking out of the kitchen window with a cup of tea in his hand. He had obviously been at home for a while and had used the gym in the basement. I could see the sweaty sheen on his body. He wore nothing but a pair of denim shorts and his muscles rippled as he raised the cup to his lips, a half burnt cigarette in his other hand. The long hair was gone, in its place a short prison cut. The tattoos that started on his arms covered a large part of his shoulders and back. There was a scar on his side, a dark long mark that gave a dangerous edge to his perfect body. His firm ass filled out those tight shorts in a highly sexual, almost obscene way and my eyes lingered. I was distracted, disturbed by the feelings that rose in my heart. They were sensual, not entirely sisterly. And then he turned, our eyes locked and I stood there frozen, almost guilty, and overwhelmingly shy.
I saw his eyes move and take me in. They made me aware of myself. I had worn a loose T before coming down, hadn’t bothered with a bra, my legs were bare but for a pair of very short shorts, barefoot, no make-up except dark painted nails and toes. I felt a turmoil inside me and then he spoke.
“Care for a cuppa baby sister?” he took a step towards the counter and began to pour me a cup.
I walked up slowly, struck by the almost matter-of-fact way he spoke to me, as if this was just another day, as if the last eight years had not happened. He handed me the cup, and he had the same familiar amused smile on his lips. I was standing barely a foot away and I could see that it didn’t extend to his eyes. Our fingers touched as I took the cup from him and looked up into his face.
“So how’ve you been sis? Are you a doctor yet?” he asked.
Daniel stepped back from me and leaned back on the work-top, lighting another cigarette, his biceps flexing as he brought it to his lips.
I played with my cup, my eyes constantly drawn to his bare chest, to the scar on his left side that extended to the front of his body, to the way his tattoos rippled as he lit his cigarette.
“No, not yet,” I replied.
He put his own, empty, cup of tea down in the sink and reached out and touched my hand holding the cup.
“Your tea ok?” he asked.
“Yes. Perfect!” I said automatically. I hadn’t even touched it to my lips.
It felt weird to be talking like this. Like two characters in a bad play.
“I know mom and dad are out till the evening. Do you have any plans for today?” he continued talking. “Perhaps I can cook you breakfast? I learnt to cook in prison and I bet prison food is better than what you students eat anyway.”
His words sounded rehearsed and once again the grin on his face wasn’t reflected in his eyes.
“Breakfast it is baby girl,” I heard him say with a smile. I must have responded with a yes to his question but I didn’t remember having said it. He busied himself immediately scouring the fridge for food.
I wasn’t prepared for the small talk. I wasn’t prepared to see him, period. So I just stood there and stared. My lips trembling as my brain tried to sort out the confusion of emotions and thoughts in my head.
He grabbed some eggs and butter from the fridge and walked back towards the stove. His hip brushed mine in the confined space.
As his body touched mine for the second time this morning I felt a reaction in my body. It took me by surprise. And suddenly the sense of confusion overwhelmed me. A tingling of my skin, a hardening of my nipples, a moist warmth between my legs, a loud drumming in my ears. My mouth hung open as I struggled with this crazy, weird, forbidden emotion.
I wanted to object to his calling me baby girl but I realized I kind of liked him calling me that. At the same time I wanted him to know that I was no longer a baby. No longer someone he needed to protect.
“So baby girl, you got a boyfriend then?” he glanced at me mischievously. “Or do you perhaps bat for the other team.”
I glared back at Daniel, refusing to answer the question about a boyfriend. I have one, but right then the sight of him was overpowering my senses. There was a sudden sexual tension in the air, I didn’t know whether he felt it too, but his reference to me being a possible lesbian did little to lighten it.
He saw my dark look and grinned again. “Sorry, just being silly, prison humour.”
I watched as he moved around the kitchen. I’m really clumsy around the kitchen, and with most things in general. I was fascinated by the way he knew his way around the jars, pans and knives. I leaned back in my chair, aware that my nipples were sticking out through the thin fabric.
A perverse version of me wanted him to look at me, see that I was no longer the eleven year old girl, even to see my arousal. I had seen his eyes look at me earlier. I had recognized that hungry look, escort maltepe had seen it infinite number of times from others. Somehow, getting that look from Daniel didn’t shock me. It warmed me.
I remember wondering idly if 8 years in the prison create all this bottled up male sexuality. I could almost smell it in the air.
I barely tasted my tea. My senses were focused on his body, so much masculinity, so close.
“Stop it sammie,” a voice screamed in my head. “He’s your brother.”
But it did nothing to the increasing moisture between my legs, to the racing of my heart, the heaviness I could feel in my breasts.
And then I began to cry. The bottled up guilt of years combined with the confusion of emotions in my head made me vulnerable. I sobbed softly, tears beginning to well up in my eyes. Daniel turned then and looked at me. The expression on his face was one of deep pain as he stared at me and in a few quick steps he had flung his arms around me. I buried my face into his chest and wrapped my arms around his bare back, my hands gripping his muscled shoulder and lower back.
I looked up at Daniel through my tears. I can’t remember a word of what he said to me but I remember each twitch of his lips, the musky male smell of his body filling my nostrils, the protective feel of his strong arms around me.
I don’t know how long we held each other before his lips pressed against mine. I remember I gasped and he pulled away in alarm, a haunted expression in his eyes. But I pulled his face back to me and we kissed again. It was a kiss of deep love, of shared need, of desire. I knew it was wrong but it felt right. More right than all the boys, and some men, that I had kissed. I realized in that moment that I loved Daniel. Loved him more than anyone else in the world and it wasn’t the kind of love a sister should feel for her brother. I felt elated that Daniel shared my love.
Our kissing was full of desperation, of years of want. We kissed and we cried. We kissed again and we laughed and our hands groped each other. I pressed myself into him, crushing my hard nipples against his chest. My hands felt his strong muscular back and his hands fell to my arse. I moaned with each kiss gripping him with even more desire.
Daniel’s grunts released his pent up frustration and desire as our tongues met and wrestled with each other. My slender fingers wrapping themselves around the back of his neck and his big hands slipping under my bottom.
“God! You are beautiful, baby girl,” I heard him whisper as he lifted me off my feet.
I don’t know how he carried me into the living room and lay me down on the sofa, his own body following, resting his weight on his elbows and engulfing me as he kissed me again. I felt him then, his crotch against mine and I moaned my need as I ground back.
I had never felt so out of control, so wanton, as I pressed myself against him. My lips felt as if they were on fire, sucking hungrily on his. I was highly sensitive to his hands exploring me. I saw the lust in his eyes as he looked at me and felt it in the throbbing hardness inside his shorts pressing against me. I felt beautiful, desirable and even in my aroused state I noticed how gentle he was. I remember wondering if it’s because it was me, his baby sister, or if he was like that with everyone. I remember experiencing a storm of jealousy for every girl he had ever been with. And I remember lifting my head and kissing him with passion, moaning deep inside my throat.
He kissed me again and then slowly and with almost extreme delicacy he began to peel off my t-shirt. My body twisted and writhed on the sofa as he undressed me. He kissed my skin as it became exposed and moved to my breasts, taking the dark nipples in his mouth and kissing them gently, rolling them to a painful hardness between his lips and tongue. The expression in his eyes was soft as he looked at me just before his lips closed around my nipples. His touch was gentle, playful, arousing and liberating.
I watched with growing love as my nipples disappeared inside his mouth. His hands moved downwards and slowly tugged my panties down. I suppressed a guttural moan as his coarse hands tugged at my panties. I felt a moment of panic as I saw him release my nipples and pull away. It subsided as I watched him draw my panties down my legs. His hands caressed my thighs, and he kissed my knees.
As he tugged the panties off my feet, a voice danced inside my head, “Ohh my God! I’m naked. Naked in my big brother’s arms.”
He sat at the end of the sofa holding my feet in his hands and looked at me, my dark body naked and exposed. I looked back at him and I felt no shame. I was fascinated by the contrast of his white skin against my dark brown, reminding me that he was only my step brother but I knew even that didn’t make our love right. I extended a hand to him and he took it as he bent his body over mine.
His lips kissed my tummy and then I saw him, felt him, press his lips against my mound. His tongue tracing the lips and the moist crack. He entwined the fingers of our hands and I watched as his tongue darted out to lick my labia, my body tensing as his tongue flicked out and teased my clit. I arched and shuddered as he licked it.
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