Page 56 of Colt
“I don’t want that. And I’m injured.”
“You’re starting to push it,” she says.
“Hey. How is asking to be babied pushing it? I was told yesterday, quite forcefully, that I need to lean into my infirmity.”
“I don’t think I ever said that.”
She gets up and walks into the kitchen. I watch her for a moment, my eyes trained on her backside. Now I know what it looks like completely naked. I look up at the ceiling and try to keep myself from getting another erection. How funny. I didn’t have a single one for ages. And now here we are.
I stand up slowly, and make my way in after her.
“I’m going to have to go home and get dressed at some point,” she says.
“Really? I like this.”
“That’s nice,” she says. “But I don’t think it’s appropriate for grocery shopping.”
“Not true. Plenty of people wear their pajamas grocery shopping. Hell, the toughest girls you know wear their cookie monster pajamas out to the grocery store.”
She frowns. “True. But those girls always have your back.”
“It’s true. Unlike the girl in the Tweety Bird pajamas. They’re just mean for no reason.”
She laughs. And I have this strange sense that I’ve missed an awful lot not having a real relationship with her over these last few years. We could have had this. Could’ve talked and joked. Sex aside, things have been difficult between us. They always have.
Idolike her.
All this time I’ve cast her as the younger sister figure, it was convenient for me to do it.
It made sure that nothing got messy. And it was always ripe for messiness. No matter how much I might pretend otherwise. Because I noticed when she became a woman. I noticed that she was beautiful. In a way that I knew wasn’t right for me to be noticing my stepsister. I didn’t live at home anymore, she was over eighteen, it’s not like there was anything… Nothing dodgy about it in that way. But definitely not right.
Too late to be thinking about all that now, I suppose. It’s weird, though, how this doesn’t feel wrong. It feels good. My body feels good for the first time in a hell of a long while.
I watch her make the coffee, because I’m enjoying watching her movements in a different way. Taking in what she does, the way that her hair catches the sunlight, how it falls over her shoulders. The way her elegant fingers maneuver around all thethings in the kitchen. The way her hips sway when she walks. I’ve seen all these things before, but this is the first time I’ve ever let myself notice them in this way.
This time when we sit together at the table it doesn’t feel fraught. It feels easy. Though, there is a threat of underlying tension between us, but now I know what it is. Sexual tension. Has it been that way for a long time? Is that what drives the tense moments between us? Entirely possible.
And now we can just have sex instead of fighting.
I love that for us.
She finishes her cup of coffee, and sets it down at the center of the table. “I’m going to go get dressed. I’ll be back in like fifteen minutes, and then we can go.”
I don’t want her to leave. I can’t say that I’ve ever had that experience before after sex with a woman. Usually I’m amped for some alone time. Not now. A combination of the fact that I’m not enjoying being alone with my demons right now, and her, I suspect.
The minutes go by slowly, and when she comes back again I practically leap toward the front door.
I feel like a dog that’s been in his kennel for too long. Yeah, we went to my parents’ house, but that’s not the same.
“Your mom must’ve told everyone to stay away,” she muses as we get into my truck.
“You think?”
“Oh yeah,” she says, starting the ignition. “Otherwise you’d be inundated with women holding casseroles offering to hand out condolence blow jobs.”
I nearly choked on my own breath as we pull out on the street. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on. You know it’s true.”
