Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
We sat on his bed, facing each other, the deck of cards spread out before us on the comforter. I was in my bra and panties.
“Don’t you dare go out on me,” I threatened, laying down a six on top of the stack, then “Gary!” when he did just that.
He sat back and laughed at me.
“You bastard!” I said, throwing my cards at him. “That’s five hands in a row!”
“You wanted to play,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, reaching behind me and undoing my bra -snap. “But I didn’t want to play alone.”
We were playing Strip Crazy Eight–or rather, I was. Gary had not lost since the first hand and I had nothing but his shoes on my side. I handed over by bra, which he added to his collection: jeans, top, socks, Reeboks, and now my brassiere.
“This isn’t fair,” I said. “And stop staring at my breasts.”
Gary and I are twins. We are eighteen years old. We are both blonde, both blue-eyed, both very fair complexioned, both prone to burning in the sun. Gary is older than I by eight minutes, a fact he never lets me forget. All our lives, he’s refereed to himself as my “older” brother.
I çeşme escort wouldn’t have it any other way.
If we stood side by side in a mirror–which we’ve done–there are noticeable differences between us: Gary is five-feet eight inches tall; I’m five feet-five. Gary weighs one-hundred and fifty-two pounds; I weigh one-hundred and eighteen pounds. Gary has been lifting weights for the last three years; I take gymnastics. We’re both muscular, but in different ways.
“Your deal,” he said.
I slid the cards together into a big pile, worked them into a stack, and then began to shuffle them. “How come you like my breasts so much lately?” I asked.
He shrugged, but didn’t look away from them. “Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately?” he asked.
I didn’t think they had not grown noticeably larger in the last two years. “I see them every day,” I said. “I’m used to them.”
“Yeah,” he said, “Well, I’m not.”
I felt myself shaking back and forth as I shuffled.
If we were home alone, Gary’d think nothing of walking into başakşehir escort my bedroom without a knock, whether I was dressed or not, and tough luck if I wasn’t dressed. When Mom and Dad were downstairs watching TV, or whatever they did downstairs, I’d purposely walk up the hall to the bathroom in just my panties and bra, and he always leave his door open.
I handed him the deck to be cut. While he did, I asked: “Do you think we’ll ever have sex, Gary?”
He paused with the deck halfway back across the bed to me. He gulped, a dry, cracking sound. “We could have sex any time we wanted,” he said slowly.
“Why don’t we then?” I asked.
His hand returned the deck of cards to my outstretched hand. “Do you want to?” he asked.
“Do you?”
He looked me in the eye and we held the gaze for very long time. It was a ritual thing with us, talking about sex. Every few months, my hormones would rage and I’d become acutely aware of his masculinity. I could be standing behind him in the hallway, or in his bedroom talking to him, and küçükçekmece escort I’d simply lean forward to smell his skin, conscious of his odor. Or he’d brush against me in the kitchen and I’d look over and he’d look back at my and that hotness would ignite in my belly.
“Fucking would fuck us up completely,” he said.
“I know it would.”
“I don’t want things fucked between us, Carol. Do you?”
“No,” I said miserably, dealing out the cards again. “I guess not.”
“Then let’s not talk about it anymore,” he said.
So we didn’t talk about it anymore. We played cards. And I lost for the sixth time in a row, surrendering my panties to his pile.
“You are such a cheater,” I grumbled at him.
“Of course, I am,” he said, gathering the cards into a pile and reforming them into a deck. “Why do you think you always end up naked?”
I almost jumped him, right then, right there . . . but of course, I didn’t. I sat instead like a sculpted Japanese art figurine, all porcelain smoothness on the outside, all compacted hardness on the inside, ready to explode. Finally, the crisis passed.
“Another hand?” I asked.
“Only if I get to take pictures,” he said, winking.
“We’ll see,” I said.
I reclaimed my underwear, put them on, then slipped into my top and then my jeans, and finally my shoes and socks.
“Deal the cards,” I said, settling back into my Lotus position.
He dealt the cards, and I lost.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32