JESS WAS A BITCH

Uh-uh, no way. I can sleep with dad and you can sleep with Jess."

There was no way I'm sharing a room with my sister, Jess. She's a total bitch. We were supposed to have three rooms - one for me, one for Jess, and one for my parents. There's no way I'm spending two weeks cooped up in a hotel room with my bitch of a sister. It's bad enough having to spend two weeks with her at all. I'm not paying for the fact the hotel can't handle a simple reservation.

"Look, Jon. Be reasonable. I'm sorry the reservation got messed up but your father and I are not sleeping in separate rooms. This is our vacation, too. The manager said if something opens up he'll let us know. Besides, we got free breakfast vouchers for the four of us for the entire stay. It won't kill you to share a room with your sister for a couple of weeks."

I look at my dad but any hope dies when I see the rueful half-grin that translates into, "Forget it, buddy, it's a done deal."

"It sucks for me, too, you know," Jess adds.

"No, it won't. It'll give you plenty of time to be a fucking bitch without worrying mom and dad will catch you at it."

"Jon! You may think turning nineteen and graduating from high school means you are free of our rules; your wrong. You still live in our house. We still pay for your food, clothes, and school. Apologize to your sister. And I mean right now!"

If there's any sympathy in dad's eyes I can't see it. I don't expect any from mom. Jess is her favorite. They're two peas in a pod. My mom's a bitch too. She doesn't go out of her way to direct it at me, like Jess does, but it's clear none of my friends' parents can stand her. I'd like to be pissed at them but I can't. They're both totally self-centered and self-absorbed. I feel sorry for my dad. He's stuck with them. For me, there's finally a light at the end of the tunnel. Four years of school and I'm free. I don't care what it takes; after college, I'm getting out.

"I'm sorry I called you a fucking bitch."

"You don't need to repeat it," mom huffs. "We all heard you the first time." She puts her hands on her hips and stretches her back. Her shirt is too tight. The buttons look like they're being tortured. She's very proud of her boobs. She should be. They cost as much as Jess's first year of college. "Now, get out. I want to change and go relax by the pool. I'm exhausted."

Exhausted? Really? I think to myself. It's only a two and a-half hour flight from Dallas to Cancun. The ride from Cancun to the resort is another hour but the car was air-conditioned and the roads are way better than they used to be. She slept for most of the ride.

I grab the duffle bag I'm using for my stuff and walk out of the room. Jess follows. We were supposed to have three rooms in a row - Jess, my parents, me - with Jess and my parent's room connecting so Jess and mom could share make up and clothes and hone their bitchcraft unimpeded. I hold the plastic 'key' to the lock and the light turns green. I push the door open. The view almost makes me forget about being pissed.

Past the short hallway that holds a closet and the doorway to a bathroom fit for King Henry VIII, sit two queen-sized beds, each adorned with the universal flowered bedspread of tropical resorts, even upper crust resorts. And beyond the beds, wide patio doors open onto a patio. Beyond the patio, there's white sand and water, the dazzling blue you should only be able to get with Photoshop. I stop in the doorway and stare. It's beautiful. Forget the pool. I want to change, grab a towel, and find a quiet spot to stretch out and let the sound of the water soak away my frustration and anger.

I realize I'm blocking the view. On the heels of that thought comes a question. Why isn't Jess bitching at me to move? The only answer is because she's about to stab me with something. I turn my head. She's looking past my shoulder at the water.

I move out of the way. "Sorry," I mumble out of habit and immediately hate myself for doing it.

"Huh? Oh, no biggie. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

I nod, unsure and suspicious.

"Which bed do you want?" She asks. Now I'm really suspicious. What is she up to?

"You want me to pick?"

She shrugs. "Sure, why not?"

I can think of a million reasons.

"I guess the one by the patio then." I wait for her reaction. I'm expecting a smirk and a sarcasm drenched, "in your dreams, dork".

"Okay." She sets her suitcase on top of the other bed. "Would it be okay if we left the door open, not the screen, just the glass door, so we can hear the ocean?"

I nod.

"You want the bathroom first?"

Now, I'm totally freaking out. What the fuck is she up to? This is not my sister.

"Don't look so shocked. I'm not an alien replacement or a cyborg or something. I'm just trying to be nice."

"Yeah," I agree. "That's what's freaking me out. You're never nice." I think about adding, 'to me', but decide the statement is accurate as phrased.

She bursts out in tears and runs to the bathroom.

I'm too stunned to even drop my bag. Jess never cries, ever, unless you count fake tears shed when she wants something. She's two years older than me, almost; she won't be twenty-one for another month and I can't recall ever seeing her cry real tears. She didn't cry at grandmother's funeral, not that mom had either. Mom's dad hadn't attended. No one said anything about it. I always thought he was dead but dad told me he'd simply walked out one day. He sent them plenty of money but never called, never sent a card. Jess hadn't cried at our other grandmother's funeral, either. Dad and granddad, his father, were both a mess at that one. I did my best, sixteen-year-old dudes do not cry in public, but a couple choked sobs escaped me, mostly at seeing my dad and granddad so sad.

I get my wits about me enough to toss my duffle on the bed. I'm not sure what to do. I mean, I know what to do. I know how to offer comfort. I may only be nineteen but I'm not a dolt. It's just I've never been in a situation of needing to comfort my sister. If not ignoring her existence, I'm usually plotting very nasty, very mean, revenge.

I cross to the bathroom door. It's only half closed. I tap with one knuckle. "Jess, you okay?"

"Please, just go away and let this fucking bitch alone!"

The first tendril of guilt works its way into my chest. I shake my head. Guilty? Over what? Telling the truth? Is this her plan, making me feel like a douche for being honest?

I peek around the corner. She's sitting atop the toilet, lid down, with her face in her hands. Her shoulders are hitching and I hear snuffles of snot. She's good but she's not this good. Meryl Streep is this good, not Jess Vandermach.

I walk into the bathroom. There's a fancy faux tortoise shell box with Kleenex. I lift the box and retrieve the ordinary cardboard box it hides and sit down on the edge of the tub. It's like, six feet from the toilet. There's the bidet but I'm not sitting on it. I move over to the counter and rest my butt on the edge. She doesn't look up. I nudge her shoulder with the box of Kleenex.

She glances up. "Go away," she whispers but she plucks three tissues out of the box in rapid sequence. She blows her nose.

I stare, amazed. I had no idea that red eyes, a red nose, and snot could transform a raging bitch into such a sad, vulnerable, and very small looking, girl.

"Jess, you're freaking me out. I mean, you never get upset, other than pissed. You get pissed but that's about it."

"Thanks, you're making me feel so much better, Jon. Please, just go."

Instead of leaving, I sit on the floor, legs crossed, in front of her. I hold out the Kleenex box. She takes only one this time and blots at her eyes. If she thought that would help her mascara, she was sadly mistaken. She looks like a raccoon bleeding black ink from its eyes. It has a weird effect on me. The streaks on her cheeks, the red eyes, all of it, forces me to really look at her. She's beautiful. Most brothers, I imagine, either think their sisters are 'pretty', if they like them or that their a 'fucking hag', if they don't. Jess is gorgeous; even with her face a mess, she's gorgeous.

She has the same blue eyes the rest of the family has. Her lashes are long and thick, even with most of the mascara on her cheeks. Her nose is just right, not too big, not too small, not upturned, not downturned. Her lips are also just right, Angelina Jolie but with just a little less oomph.

"What are you staring at?"

"You. You're a mess," I reply.

Without knowing why, I stand up and turn on the tap. I wet a washcloth with warm water.

"Look up," I tell her. To my amazement, she does. That's probably the first time she's ever done something I've asked her to do. I'm not kidding. Truly.

I wrap the cloth around two fingers and begin to clean off her cheeks. Mascara is designed to not come off. It takes a while. I'm extra gentle when I do her eyes.

"You're prettier without so much make-up," I tell her, as I rinse out the washcloth. "Just some eyeliner and a little lip gloss."

"Since when are you an expert on make-up?"

"I'm not but I know when a woman looks good and when she doesn't."

"So, I don't look good in make-up?"

"Jess, you're beautiful. You know it, why make me say it? You always look good. I think you look better with less make-up, that's all."

"You think I'm pretty?"

"Jesus, I just ask you why you need to make me say it? You know you're pretty."

"Then why did Alex dump me?"

"Uh, I don't know? Because he's always been a total fucking asshole? Maybe that's why. What do you mean he dumped you? I can't believe you haven't dumped him. You know he's an asshole, right?"

"I love him; that's why I didn't dump him. Okay? He cheats on me all the time but I don't care. Didn't care. He dumped me anyway."

"Jess, what the hell are you talking about?" I resume my place on the floor in front of her. "He was cheating on you? And you put up with it? You? I'd have thought you'd have cut his balls off. What the hell is going on?"

Jess and Alex had been hot and heavy since ninth grade. It was one of the many things that made me want to puke most of the time. He made All-State in wrestling. Jess had been too 'good', too sophisticated to be a cheerleader. She was in the best-dressed, mommy-drives-a-Porsche clique. Alex is a typical jock asshole. He's a walking cliché of jock asshole, from the top of his overly gelled hair to the bottom of his never-more-than-three-month-old Nikes. I took vague comfort in the fact that by dating him, my sister reduced the chance of him date raping some other poor idiot girl. Not that Jess was an idiot. She's brilliant, which it makes it all the harder to put up with her vacuity, since it's an act. I've always thought she was a human version of the T. Rex. Now she's telling me she's been putting up with that little jock douche cheating on her? That she loves him?

"He's the only one that's ever been nice to me. Why wouldn't I love him? You hate me. Dad hates me. The girls in high school hated me and now, the girls in college hate me. I asked Jill if she wanted to get an apartment together next year. She laughed in my face! My freshman roommate didn't even last a year. When I came back from winter break, she was just gone. She was only two doors down the hall. She never said a word to me about moving out. She never said a word to me at all. I never did anything to her."

"Yeah, but Jess, did you ever do anything for her? Just ignoring someone doesn't mean you're being nice. I mean, that's better than trying to make their life a living hell like you did mine, but it's still not being nice. Did you even talk to her? Where was she from?"

"I did not try to make your life a living hell!"

I just stare at her.

"I didn't! It's not like you were nice to me!"

I lean back and rest on my hands.

"I'm two years younger than you. My first memories of you are of you taking my toys, pushing me down the stairs, locking me out of the bathroom until I wet my pants. And you think I was supposed to be nice to you. Jesus! Are you kidding me?"

"You were only two but I was only three or four myself. Of course, I took your toys. That's what toddlers do."

I realize I don't want to fight with her. The minute or two when I was worried about her felt good.

"Okay. Okay. All I was trying to say is you always seem so into yourself. You're like mom, nothing interests you unless it's about you. Sis, I think you only hang around mom, and she hangs around you, because you spend all your time talking about yourselves to each other. It's like you're talking to yourselves in a mirror. Why would someone want to be friends with someone who doesn't wanna be a friend?"

"That's so unfair and it's not true. I'm not interested in anyone? No one, except mom, is interested in me. No one ever asked me where I was from or if I wanted to go to a movie."

"Jess, your whole body, your facial expression, screams 'don't bother me'. No one asks you to do things because they're afraid to approach you. Besides, be honest, if Jill had asked you to go to a party or a movie, would you have done it?"

"Probably not. People only want something from me. They know I have money. I can't trust anyone, not even Alex."

"I'm calling bullshit," I say with a laugh. "They only know you have money because you make sure they know you have money. Besides, you don't have money. Mom and dad have money, well dad has money. We have the same parents but no one, except close friends know my parents are loaded. When I start school in the fall, no one will know, either."

"That's because you have no taste," Jess snaps.

I laugh again. "Maybe, but you can have taste and not dress and accessorize in a manner that blatantly screams, 'I have more money than you'. It's not your clothes, so much as it is your stupid shoes and purses and sunglasses and shit."

The old scowl is creeping over her face. Enough. I really don't want to fight.

"All I'm sayin' is if you toned it down half a notch, gave people half a chance, show just a little bit of interest in what they want or need, you'd have plenty of friends. Including a boyfriend who isn't a walking fuckhead." I stand up. The bathroom floor is not conducive to deep and long conversations. "I'm going to change and head out to the beach. I'll take a key. Look, I don't hate you. Dad, doesn't hate you; that's ridiculous. I'm sorry you feel bad, even if it is over some guy you should have never given the time of day to. You're better than him. Seriously. Count your blessings."

"It doesn't feel like I have any," she whispers.

Oh, fuck. She sounds like she's going to start crying again. Damn it.

"Come on, change into your suit. We can hang on the beach. You can keep your eye open for some rich rock star that'll make you forget all about, whatever the fuck his name is. Al Dick? All Dick? Ass Lick? Alex? I forget."

She shakes her head. "Personality-wise he might have been 'all dick', physically it was more like 'small dick'."

"There's the harsh, take-no-shit, sister I know," I say as I applaud her slowly. I offer her a hand and pull her to her feet. "Come on, let's enjoy this chunk of beach our father is paying a handsome sum for us to enjoy."

"You read too much, dork."

"You're probably right."

***

I fish my board shorts out of my duffle and start back to the bathroom.

"Don't bother. I'll turn my back," Jess tells me as she paws through a suitcase large enough to smuggle a baby hippo home in. If they had hippos in Mexico that is.

I pause. I'm shy about my body. Junior high gym class was agony. I was 'pudgy'. That was how mom labeled me. Plus, I hit puberty on the late side. As a freshman in high school I was just starting to really get pubic hair and armpit hair. If junior high was agony, freshman gym class was torture. Alex was in a weight-lifting class the same period. He wasn't dating Jess yet, not that that would have made a difference. I should probably thank him. He was the primary inspiration for not only having dad outfit the basement with free weights but actually using them. If I forced myself to really look in the mirror, I thought I probably had an okay body but the word "pudgy'" was what floated through my thoughts.

I stayed away from high school gym classes, after the required freshman year course was a nightmarish memory. It's not that I'm not athletic; I just can't stand high school jocks. The past couple of years I spent a lot of time at a local gym, one no one in our rarified social strata would dream of stepping foot in. There were guys from my school but not the ones that lived in my neighborhood. And that was fucking great as far as I was concerned. I discovered that 'roided up bodybuilders could be as unpleasant as high school jocks but they tended to cluster together, drawn together by their gravitational mass no doubt. Kasem was in my grade. His dad, Kovit, was from a small village in Thailand. His dad was small, probably only 5'5", but get him in a ring and holy shit. He taught Muay Thai but combined it with Kali he'd learned living in the Philippines. Anyone who thought they could push around Mr. Amudee was in for a very bad surprise.

My brain told me I wasn't a pudgy little fuck anymore but my mind couldn't accept the fact. I didn't want Jess to think I was some kinda little spaz who still tried to hide in his locker to change, which is probably what she'd heard from Alex. Trying to act as if stripping with my sister in the room was no big deal, I pulled off my tee shirt while I kicked off my sandals. I thumbed open my shorts. I don't have much in the way of hips, so once they were unbuttoned they basically fell to the floor. My boxers are unbleached, undyed hemp, another thing I owe Kasem for turning me on to. Hemp breaths better than cotton and after a few washings is softer. They last forever. The pair I'm wearing is probably three years old. I hook my thumbs in the waist band and slip them off. As I'm reaching for the board shorts lying at the foot of the bed, I notice that Jess is watching me in the mirror.

For a split second, I freeze, fighting the urge to drop into a crouch and throw my hands over my crotch. I'm pissed that I let her fool me. I wait for her derision. None comes. Her eyes, in the mirror, are fixed on my crotch. Huh? The realization makes me uncomfortable and at the same time causes something to stir in my belly. Instead of picking up my shorts, I lean across the bed and pull my duffel closer. I rummage around, pretending to look for something. She wants to spy on me, fine. The stirring in my gut gets a little too strong. I don't want to pop a boner in front of my sister so I grab my flip flops out of the duffel and drop them on the floor. I pull on my shorts, and look down to tie them. I look down but my eyes are on the mirror and the way my sister's eyes are still fixed on my crotch.

She looks flushed. It's probably still from her crying spell. Although, I feel warm myself. I pluck a book out of my bag and sit down in the chair by the bed. I open it at random and pretend to read. I haven't even started reading the damn thing yet. I continue to peek at Jess in the mirror. As I sat down, she had given a little start and began to paw through her bag again.

"Don't look," she tells me.

So, of course I do.

She unzips the back of her sundress and lets it fall off her shoulders. She stoops to pick it up. As she turns to lay it out on the bed, I quickly look down at the book. The shapes on the page make no sense, form no words I can read. I seem to have picked up a book written in Farsi. I risk a peek. She's smoothing out the dress, standing there in her bra and thong, she smoothes out a dress that will go straight into the laundry bag.

She must be doing it on purpose. She's teasing me.

She stands up and my eyes go down. She turns. I look back up. Her hands are behind her back. With a practiced movement, she unfastens her bra and slips it off her shoulders. She turns back towards the bed and I dip my eyes again, but not as much as before.

Her breasts leave me holding my breath. Mom's are fake; you can tell it through her clothes, a softball cut in half and shoved under her skin. Not Jess's. Jesus. I know she's my sister but Jesus.

They aren't huge. Like her nose and mouth, they're just right. Even leaning over the bed, you can see how firm they are. When she stands, I can see the way they slope toward her nipples. Her areoles are smooth and pink. I realize I'm staring at the same moment Jess gives a faint gasp and turns her back toward me, hands going toward her breasts. Her face, in the mirror, is red. Her hands don't make it to her breasts. She lets them fall back to her side. She looks up and meets my gaze in the mirror.

My face burns. My body burns; but I don't, can't, look away.

Her ass is as firm as her boobs. I can see all of it. That's the only thing that tears my eyes away from the mirror and her breasts. As I stare at her butt, she reaches for the top of her thong. She hesitates, and then, as if she's made her decision, she yanks off the thong. When she turns, I don't even pretend to look down at the book in my lap. All the book is good for at this point is hiding my erection.

She's shaved, just a small strip, not even a landing strip, of hair, points like an arrow at her clitoris and slit.

I shake my head. What the fuck am I doing and look quickly away, face flaming. I've been staring at my naked sister. Fucking pervert. Jesus.

I go back to staring at my book. I force myself to think of Ms. Latham. She taught art in junior high. She thought it was 1967. She didn't use deodorant. She didn't shave her legs or pits. She had scraggly nails, that were never clean and when she lectured, flecks of white spit foam gathered at the corners of her mouth. If there was any vision in the world capable of shrinking a nineteen-year-old dude's boner, she was it. Sorry, mean but true.

I hear Jess go into the bathroom, water runs and I hear splashing. When she comes out she's patting her face dry with a towel. When she lowers the towel, she drives the vision of Ms. Latham right out of my head. She looks unbelievable in her bikini. I can see her nipples poking out through the cotton. Damn.

I grab my towel as I stand and hold it in front of me. My face is on fire.

"Ready," she asks as she pulls on a flimsy linen cover up, that covers very little since it's basically transparent.

All I can do is nod.

***

Dad gives us a funny look when we stop to get the sunscreen. Or maybe it's just my guilty conscience. Mom, not surprisingly, doesn't appear to notice a thing. She does however tell us that the sunscreen she brought along is too expensive to waste. Apparently, skin cancer prevention in her offspring is a lower priority. Dad tells us to stop in the gift shop and charge it to the room. So, we do and pick up a six-pack of Corona. You gotta love a country where the drinking age, at least for beer and wine, is eighteen.

We haven't spoken since leaving the room.

One advantage of parents that are willing to drop a lot of coin is a beach that is not crowded. We walk twenty feet and we're out of hearing range of the other people on the beach. No kids, that's another advantage.

Jess flips her towel out. She sheds the cover up and folds it into a makeshift pillow. I start to spread on sunscreen. She holds out her hand, palm up. I squirt sunscreen into her hand. We go about our business without speaking.

"I'll do your back. Then you can do mine."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and hand her the bottle.

The lotion is cold and I jump. Her hands are warm. She smoothes the lotion over my shoulders, up my neck. She does my ears, even though I already did them. Her hands move over the top of my shoulders, nearly down to my clavicles. She does my back, reaching under my arms. It's like getting a stand-up massage. She does my lower back and her fingers skirt for a moment under the top of my shorts.

"My turn."

I turn and she hands me the lotion. Her face is a blank as she turns away.

I lotion her back.

"Get under the strap," she tells me.

God, her skin is so warm. It feels like my hands are on fire.

She steps away, turns and twists, one toe in the sand, doing a 1940's pin-up pose. "Did I miss any spots?"

I shake my head.

She sits, stretches out on the towel, and pulls her sunglasses down over her eyes.

I have two options. I can get in the water or I can lie down on my own towel. Three options, I can flee for the safety of my room. I don't want to flee but I'm too freaked still to lie down. I head for the surf, breaking into a run and barreling into the next wave. As I come out on the other side, I feel my hair falling around my shoulders. So much, for my man bun. I comb my hair out with my splayed fingers, lean back, dip my hair and then push it back with my hands. The water is bathtub warm and does absolutely nothing to calm my boner. I float on my back, letting the waves roll under me, close my eyes, and try to concentrate on the feel of the sun on my face.

All I can concentrate on is I'm floating on my back with my dick tenting my trunks.

I roll over and duck beneath the surface. I don't have my mask but I open my eyes anyway, maybe the sting of salt water will distract me. It does, a little. A sea turtle, ambling along a few feet further out from the shore, distracts me a little more. I try to keep an eye on him; it's hard without a snorkel. My erection begins to fade.

As soon as I notice my boner going down I recall why I was hard in the first place, the feel of Jess's hands on my back, the feel of her skin under my hands, the way her body looked in the hotel room. And boom, I'm at full mast again. Damn it.

I feel trapped and that pisses me off. I remind myself she was teasing me, showing me her body like that. I tell myself I'd be stupid to fall for one crying spell. She's fucking with me, like always.

When I walk out of the surf I forgo the usual tug at the front of my trunks and let them cling. They're riding so low, I think my boner is the only thing holding them up. The top of my pubic hair must be visible. I can't see her eyes behind the sunglasses. For all I know she's asleep. I pick up my towel and start to squeeze my hair dry. I discovered, the hard way, that with long hair you can't just scrub a towel over your head to dry your hair. An hour or so of pulling a comb through the tangles taught me that. I hold my head to one side so that the towel doesn't hide the tent in my trunks. I can't see her eyes but the thought that she's looking at my dick, my cock, my hard cock, makes my dick ache even more.

I spread the towel over the chair and lie down, face up.

The sun feels amazing. I feel drops of water evaporating off my chest and belly and at the same time, I feel drops of sweat forming on my forehead and in my pits. There's a puff of breeze. It rolls in from the water, over my legs and belly and then kisses the sweat gathering in my hairline. The feel of the sun, the water, the wind on my skin is mind-blowing. I want to feel it all over my body. I fight the urge to stand up and strip. There are unofficial nude beaches around here but this isn't one of them. I'm pretty sure the local authorities leave the clientele of this establishment alone but I don't want to risk it.

I manage to forget about Jess but the feel of the sun and the breeze keeps my dick hard.

I fall asleep, which even with sun screen would have been a recipe for disaster but Jess wakes me.

"Hey, Jon, wake up. You're going to burn. We should head in."

I shake the sleep out of my head. It takes a moment for me to place where the fuck I am. Mexico. With my family. My sister.

I still have a boner. I'm no longer feeling irritated. The old Jess would have been happy to let me lay out here until I was fried, not that the old Jess would have been anywhere near me. I'm no longer irritated; I'm embarrassed.

I roll away from her and stand up. I reach behind me for my towel with one hand, while I try to pull my trunks out to hide, sort of, my erection with the other.

I hear Jess giggle.

"Here." She puts my towel in my searching hand.

I wrap the towel around my waist, face flaming. When I turn around she smiles and nods.

"Better, we wouldn't want all the other guys at the resort hating on you."

I look at her confused.

She shakes her head. "God, you're always such a dork. Bro, you're fucking hot. You should have your own room, you could be fucking a different chick every night, if not two different chicks every night."

She turns and walks away before I can respond. I watch the way her butt moves.

***

Back in the room, it's as if nothing happened. Jess is in the shower. When she come out, she's wrapped up in a bath towel.

"Your turn," she says as she picks up her brush and begins to brush her hair in front of the full-length mirror.

In the bathroom, I step into the shower and shuck my trunks. I rinse them out under the shower and drape them over the towel bar at the back of the shower. Jess's bikini hangs there as well. I glance over my shoulder, making sure the door is closed and pull the bottoms to my face. All I smell is water. What a fucking moron I am; and a perv.

When I exit, my towel tucked around my hips, Jess is dressed; another sundress, tie-dyed. I don't think she's wearing a bra but I force myself not to stare. I pick up my own brush and set to work putting my hair into some sort of order. It's not curly but it's wavy.

"Leave it down," Jess suggests. "I didn't think I'd like you with long hair but it looks good. Try leaving it down."

"Are you sure? I don't want to look like fucking Fabio or something?"

She laughs. It's a nice sound. I try to remember when I hear her laugh in fun and not over some spiteful jab.

"Just don't part it in the middle."

She walks over and turns me away from the mirror. Her hands go to my head and her fingers start combing it. I can feel her breath on my bare chest. I swear I can feel heat coming off her body. I plant Ms. Latham front and center in my brain and use all my willpower to ignore the feel of her hands in my hair.

"There," she chirps as she steps away. "Take a look."

"You sure?"

"Positive. You could have three girls in here tonight if you wanted."

"Yeah, right."

"Don't be such a dork. Jesus. Look at yourself." She moves to stand beside me and looks into mirror. "You have great hair, white teeth, a great smile, when you let yourself smile, dimples, pecs but not pecs that look like boobs, hairy chest without looking like a gorilla, abs." I shiver when she presses her palm to my hand. "Hard abs, and this cute little trail of hair leading to your package."

A fingertip trails down my belly to the top of my towel.

"Wha," I clear my throat. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to convince my little brother that behind my back he's turned into a hot fucking dude." She turns away. "Get dressed. You know mom'll be all pissy if we're late."

***

Dinner passes in a blur. I can't tell you what was on my plate. I eat mechanically, not tasting. Jess seems perfectly at ease but I feel dad's eyes on me the whole time.

"Your mom and I are going to take a car and go up to Tulum in the morning. Either of you want to come? Perhaps learn something about an ancient culture?" he asks as we rise from the table.

"No thanks, I'm gonna chill," Jess tells him. He nods and looks at me.

"Uh, I think I'll pass. I don't feel so good."

"Too much sun," he sighs. "I keep telling you guys you get too much sun. Do you listen? No, of course not." He looks at me hard. "Fine, but stay out of the sun tomorrow. Or if you can't do that remember sunscreen and plenty of water, not beer, water."

I nod. He shakes his head.

He says good night in the hallway. He and mom disappear into their room. Jess opens the door and steps into the room we'll be sharing.

I follow.

***

There's only one sink in the bathroom. I let Jess brush her teeth first. Of course, besides her teeth she has make-up to remove, wash, moisturize and tone her face, and I don't know what else. By the time she vacates the bathroom, I've started to consider peeing in one of the planters on the patio.

I flip the seat up with one foot and let 'er rip. I sigh as one of those I-really-had-to-go shivers wracks my body. As I'm shaking off, I begin to worry about how loud my peeing was. Then - if that worried me, what about when I need to take a dump? I can't take a dump with my sister in the next room. What if she needs to use the bathroom after me? Holy fuck! What if she needs to take a dump. When I told our parents I didn't want to share a room, all I'd been thinking about was not wanting to be around Jess. This was a whole other level of WTF to consider.

I realize I'm standing there holding my dick, staring into space. I flush the toilet. I stare at myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth. Am I hot? Or is Jess fucking with me? I rinse my mouth and stare at my face. It's not hideous. I step back and look in the mirror. I lift my shirt. I do have decent abs, not monstrous, 'roid-fueled ridges, but good definition.

"Are you jerking off in there?"

I jump, literally jump. I run my hand through my hair and take a deep breath. Normally, I'd watch some TV but I hop in bed and roll onto my side, facing away from Jess. She's sitting in her bed, legs crossed, flipping through the channels.

"Oh my, God," she gasps. "Look at the dick on that guy!"

Now, there's not a gay bone in my body but if some says, "look at the dick on that guy", you kinda, sorta, have to look. Right? She had stopped on HBO's Rome. My Spanish isn't good enough to follow the dialogue but it appeared a woman was being offered the gift of a big-dick slave. And, yes, I must agree, whoever the actor is, he's hung like a fucking horse. I roll back over. I'm not into dick, especially one that has the potential to make me feel bad about my own.

I hear Jess moving around in the bed, then it gets quiet. I listen to the thud of my heart in the ear that rests against the pillow. I'm trying to make sense of something that makes zero sense. Behind me, Jess begins to breathe funny. I know that sound. It's not as if I haven't watched plenty of porn. I also know, as in porn, that she was exaggerating her breathing. You can jerk off, rub off in her case, without making a sound. Fuck, I ought to know. She wants me to hear her. But why? To fuck with me? Embarrass me? She's been decent, even nice to me, for the first time in my life. A day ago, I would've had no trouble answer my questions. A day ago, Jess was a bitch, nothing more. But now?

Despite the tumult inside my head, my cock is hard.

I tell myself that doesn't make me some sort of fucking freak. I'm a young guy. My dick gets hard all of the time. All my dick hears is a hot woman playing with her pussy and breathing hard. My dick doesn't care if it's my sister or Emily Blunt.

What makes me a freak is my desire to roll over on my back and jerk off. In the open. Sheet thrown back. Cock in the air. Fist pounding, until I shower my body and the headboard in jizz.

My will to resist my desire is nearly spent. I'm gathering my courage to throw back the sheet and yank my shirt up and my boxers down and go at it, when I hear a shuddery moan from Jess' bed. Too late. She's finished.

It's a long time before I can go to sleep. My balls ache and my brain is in flames.

***

I wake, as I usually do, trying to remember what I'd just been dreaming. The sun streaming around the drapes is too bright. I'm stretching, kicking the sheet off in the process, before I recall I'm in Mexico, In a room with my sister, the bitch, or possibly former bitch. That I'm stretching, on my back, in my boxers, balls still aching and cock very, very hard. My hands fly to my crotch and my head jerks towards Jess' bed. I relax. She's asleep. She's half on her side, half on her back. The over-large tee shirt she wore to bed is hiked up almost to her armpits. Her belly is exposed. The sheet is over her hips. I can't see if she's wearing panties. I also can't explain to myself why I want to see if she's wearing panties, why I wish the top of her shirt was a little looser, why I want to see her breast, her nipple, watch it crinkle and shrink and grow hard in the cool morning air. Or from the touch of my lips. My lips?

Yes, my lips, I admit to myself. I want to tease her nipples with my lips. Tug at them. Flick the tip of my tug. Bite them? Yes, but softly. I want to pull her covers off, pull her to the side of the bed, yank her panties aside, if she's wearing them, lift her ass off the bed, and bury my cock in her pussy, her cunt. I want to fuck her. I want to shoot my load over her cunt lips, her tits. I want to watch her rub my cum over her clit, her nipples.

I push my head back into my pillow and close my eyes. I push the top of my boxers down and free my cock, push them a little lower and fish my balls out. The front of my boxers is damp. The head of my cock is drooling precum. I begin to jerk off. And I mean jerk off. I pound my cock. The side of my hand smacks against my belly and echoes in the small room. Let Jess wake up. I don't care. I want her to. I should go to her.

I open my eyes and look over at Jess.

Her eyes are open. They're on my cock, my flying fist.

The movement of my head draws her attention. She looks in my eyes.

She stands and pulls her shirt off.

She's not wearing panties.

She leans over my bed and reaches for the top of my boxers.

I stop jerking off.

She yanks them down. They get stuck on my left foot.

She climbs in bed and climbs between my legs. She puts my cock in her mouth.

Oh, sweet fucking Jesus, she's sucking my cock.

She strokes the shaft as her mouth bobs over the head. She moves up, straddles me. She pushes my shirt up and leans over my chest. She lets her nipples graze mine.

She's going to kiss my nipple. Fuck. Why did I never imagine that would feel so good? Jesus, she's doing all the things to my nipple I wanted to do to hers.

I pull her up. I press my mouth to hers. My tongue finds hers. I scoot down. I capture one of her swaying breasts with my lips. She moans and my hands clutch at her hips. I want to play with her nipple forever but I have other wants. I lift her. She's so light, so small. She's always loomed so large in my imagination but she's really a petite woman. I have no experience, beyond internet porn, at what I'm about to do. Like everything else this morning, I don't care.

I lift my head and cover Jess' cunt with my mouth. She's wet, wetter than I'd ever imagined a woman could be. And the taste - unbelievable. I push my tongue deep into her pussy. My nose is buried in her pussy lips, the bridge rubs the hard, small, woman cock of her clit. I suck at her, desperate to drink her, taste her. She puts both hands on my forehead and pushes herself up.

"Not so hard, Jon," she gasps.

I force myself to relax. I lap at her cunt, like a dog at his watering bowl. I have no idea if that's the right way to do this or not. My nose rubs her clit. I lower my head to the mattress and reach across her thighs to spread her pussy. It really does look like a little dick. It's even got a tiny foreskin. Fuck. Behind it, another nub. That's were her pee comes out, I think. I raise my head and put my lips around her clit. Her hands go back to my head but she doesn't push away from my mouth, not this time. I suck at her clit but very softly. She sighs. I pull, a little. Her fingers tighten in my hair. I flick it. Suck it. Kiss it. When she starts to really pull at my hair, I scoot lower and lick between her lips, drinking her in. I don't think I want to ever drink anything else again, except her pussy. Fuck beer. Fuck wine. Give me Jess' pussy and I'm beyond sated.

I reach behind her and spread my precum over my cock. I'm nervous, as befits a virgin, but I know what I'm going to do.

I move back to her girl cock but this time I don't move away as she pulls at my hair. She begins to buck on my face, grinding herself so hard against my lips and teeth I'm afraid she'll hurt herself. She holds her breath, stops grinding, and thrusts against my lips. I can feel her clit pulse between my lips and against my tongue as she cums.

I savor the feeling. I savor the fact my face is slick and wet from her pussy. I don't want to take my mouth away but I must. I have other wants.

I slide from under her, toward her feet, under her ass. I roll over and climb to my feet. I grab her hips and help her turn over. She's still panting. I lift her right leg with my left arm and knee walk toward her waiting pussy. I grab my cock with my right hand. The fingers of her right hand are spreading her cunt open, inviting me in. Later, I'll wonder what I would have done if she'd said 'no' at that point. I'd love to think I would have groaned and collapsed but I'm not sure. Jess had spared me that dilemma. She'd opened herself to me with her fingers.

I guide the head of my cock to the mouth of her pussy, her cunt. I watch, fascinated as the foreskin is pushed back as my cock enters her. When I pull out, it slides back forward. It's fascinating but I have needs.

I fuck her.

I fuck my sister, hard. She pulls me in with her feet. Grunting, "uh-huh" and "yes" and "oh, fuck" with each thrust.

I'd wanted to cum on her pussy, her belly, her tits; not any longer. As my orgasm builds, I lean over her, forcing her knees to her chest. My weight is on her legs, on her pussy, driving my cock into her. I can feel my cock banging into her cervix. The idea that she might not be on the pill is, bizarrely, exciting. The head of my cock is pressed against her cervix when I cum. I picture stream after stream of my sperm and jizz filling her cunt, my sister's cunt, and her womb.

"Oh, fuck, I'm cumming again," she cries as her body begins to buck underneath me.

I collapse on top of her panting.

She begins to kiss me, sucking at my tongue and lips, licking my cheeks, licking herself off me, as her body shivers and trembles.