XXX Shamus Read Free Page A

had been married once for nearly six years before the husband realized he wanted children desperately and Sister would never provide.
    Whatever the cause, the disease, the impulse, Hopper didn’t exactly feel like a typical victim. She’d always been the mother in his life since he was eleven. At the time, nudity between a seventeen-year-old high school senior and her younger brother was part of everyday life. Thinking about it years later, Hopper wondered if it wasn’t all part of some master plan. Sister had bucked the system, convincing their grandparents and a rich uncle that she should keep the house, raise the boy, and she could still attend college through a scholarship and some help from the extended family. She got her wish—persuasive, clever, sexy girl.
    She would have boyfriends over. They would make out on the couch, on the porch swing, in her bed, in her parents’ old bed. She knew Hopper was watching, even if he was hiding in closets, peeking around corners. He knew she knew because after the boys would leave, she would call out for him. Shirtless, braless, her jeans unbuttoned as the MTV played INXS and Poison, she’d ask her brother, “What did you think of him?”
    “He was ugly.”
    “Just rough around the edges. I didn’t like how he touched me, though.” She’d stick her tongue out, make a face. Or if she did like the way he touched her, she’d run her hand down her neck until she reached her nipple, cover her breasts with her forearm.
    “What was he doing when he put his hand in your pants?”
    That’s how Hopper learned about sex, asking questions after these “demonstrations” from his older sister, and she would put her naked arm around him, pull him beside her on the couch, and explain it all.
    “It’s fingering. You want to get a woman off, you can finger her, go down on her, or fuck her.”
    When he was thirteen, he was still a novice with a lot of untried info. Videos and movies only gave him a little bit more than Sister was feeding him. Then he watched one of her boyfriends pull out his dick and start playing with it while he fingered Sister. She pushed him down to the living room floor, straddled his legs, and put his dick in her mouth. Every once in a while, she’d pull away and work him with her hand. It was during one of those moments when she said, “You’d better come. You’d better come now.”
    Hopper was feeling his own hard cock by then, not exactly sure what to do with himself. He watched as the guy on the floor groaned, grunted, and then erupted. This gluey mess shooting out of him, hitting his sister’s chest, running down her hand. Then he calmed down. He was breathing hard. Sister and he laughed like they knew a secret.
    “I’ll be ready again in a half-hour,” he told her.
    Sister laughed louder like she knew a secret. “Dude, I’ve got the boy to deal with. School tomorrow, you know. Rain check for now.”
    “That’s all I get?”
    “More than I got. So wipe off and get out. I’ll bring you a towel.”
    When he was gone, Hopper slipped up to his room, the erection still at full attention, aching, and Hopper really wanted to pee but couldn’t.
    He sat on the edge of his bed, finally pulling his shorts down and letting the thing flick into the air. Much better. The front of his underwear was wet, and clear fluid was glazed on his tip. So he did what the guy downstairs did—wrapped his hand around it, tugged. It needed to be slippery. He licked his palm and tried again.
    What the hell?
    You usually think you’ve felt the range of things your body can feel after surviving childhood to become a teenager. You knew sex was out there, and people having the sex couldn’t get enough, but then you discovered why.
    He was barely getting started when she knocked on the door. In that house, the knock meant she was going to open it immediately. So there she was in his doorway, T-shirt nightgown barely covering her blue panties, leaving bare her wide hips,