Let me introduce myself; my name is Jackson. Blame my mum for that. She had a one night stand with a guy named Jack when she was 17 and thought it’d be funny to call me Jack’s son when I came along nine months later. She loves me, for sure, but the woman’s a flake. Always has been. She also jokes that I’m pretty normal, considering the amount of drugs she did during her first trimester. Didn’t notice she was pregnant.
Dozy cow.
Anyhow, she has managed to sort her life out. Married a bank manager called Kevin, who is as boring as he sounds.
Boring is good for my mum: uneventful keeps her away from the drugs.
Mostly.
Anyhow. When my mum got married to the bank manager, I inherited a stepsister, Carrie, or as I liked to call her ‘that bitch’. As in that bitch ate my pizza (didn’t have your name on it); that bitch stole money from my wallet (It was raining. I needed money for a taxi); that bitch told my girlfriend that I’d had another woman in my room (my mate’s girlfriend with my mate. We were playing Xbox and eating pizza). This last one had caused trouble; my girlfriend had decided to withhold sexual favours until ‘she was sure’, whatever the fuck that meant.
So I was back to bashing the bishop to various vids on PornHub, trapped between losing the hottest girl I could hope to maintain in college, or heading out to new uncertain pastures.
“S’up?” Carrie asked, making me jump as I raided the fridge before embarking on another masturbation marathon.
“Like you care,” I said, not even looking at my irritating sixteen-year-old stepsister.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m not in school?” Carrie asked, as I poured a drink from the fridge’s water jug.
That did make me think. I looked at her for a second, eyeing her slouchy demeanour and stupid pyjamas. Why wasn’t she in school? It didn’t interfere with my plans for the day, so I wasn’t interested. “No.” So long as my stepsister stayed on the other side of my bedroom door, the fact that she was in the house made no difference to my plans for the day: wank, shower, football, food, beer and bed.
“I’m…” Carrie said.
“Boring?” I suggested. “I’m going to my room.” Balancing a bag of crisps on the plate, I pushed the fridge door shut with my hip and squeezed past my stepsister, determined to get fed and watered before jerking-off to random porn clips.
I got upstairs, closed my door to the world, and then put on some music before slipping my gaming headset on. I browsed through the latest uploads, not paying much attention to genres, concentrating instead on the enjoyment of the women involved and their resemblance to my own absent girlfriend.
The gaming headset meant I didn’t hear Carrie sneaking into my room. There was no lock, but she knew not to come in when the door was closed.
It was sixth sense that told me I was no longer alone.
“Didn’t your mum teach you how to knock?” I asked, scrambling my cock back into my pants as I pressed Windows+D. I was pretty sure that the flared headrest meant she hadn’t seen much, if anything from the open doorway.
“I did knock,” Carrie said smartly. “You just didn’t hear. Your mum’s on the phone.”
“Tell her I’ll call back.”
“She said it’s important.”
“Fuck’s sake,” I muttered, making sure I was decent as I rolled out of my chair.
It wasn’t important. It was pointless bullshit, as always. Shopping - as if I care!
The same reason I felt sure that Carrie hadn’t seen what I was doing when she’d been standing in my room’s doorway meant I didn’t know she was there until after I’d closed my bedroom door. My chair span slowly round into the room to greet me, and nestled deep in that faux-leather sanctuary was my stepsister. “Jackson, Jackson…” she said, wagging a disapproving finger. “What would your girlfriend say if she knew about this?” I could see that the minimised windows had been reopened and arranged on my computer’s desktop.
“Listen freak show,” I said, grabbing hold of the top of the chair. I was properly angry and Carrie shrieked with fear as I loomed over her. I saw her eyes go wide and I followed her gaze down as she grabbed her crotch.
There was a growing puddle of pee as Carrie pissed herself in my seat. “Oh shit,” she cried, clutching at herself as she ducked out under my arms and went to run from the room.
“Carrie!” I called after her, feeling remorse replace anger. I’d closed the bedroom door behind me and I caught my stepsister by the arm before she could escape. “Carrie…”
“Please, don’t hit me.”
“Hit you?” I was shocked, and my stepsister could see it. “I’d never… why would I hit you?”
“Because I’m such a little shit?” she suggested, using one of my names for her. She was crying now. Sobbing. Big snotty sobs. “Because… because I stole from you. Because I tried to break up you and your girlfriend.”
“But…” I decided to ask a different question. A direct one. “Carrie?” I waited until she looked at me. “Carrie, has anyone ever hit you?” The evasive eyes told me what I needed to know. “Who?”
What happened next was not my proudest moment. Carrie cuddled in against me and I became aware of her very petite figure in soft pyjamas pressed against my athletic body, with only boxer shorts for protection. My cock inflated and there was nowhere it could go, except dig into her belly.
Of all the inappropriate boners to have happened throughout history, this one was one of the worst.
And yet, Carrie seemed to squash in closer, rather than pull away.
“Carrie,” I said, decided that I should at least acknowledge what was happening. “I’m sorry about my…”
“Hard-on?” she suggested.
“I was going to say behaviour. But… well, yes. That as well.”
“As swell, you mean.” She laughed snottily, as her fingers explored my bare back, making the erection worse. “It’s OK.” It being okay, I pulled my stepsister in closer and ran my fingers over the tangle of greasy blonde locks as more sobs came. “It’s OK.”
“I… I feel safe when you’re holding me like this.” I wanted to ask when Carrie didn’t feel safe, but the tears were drying and there would be another time for that conversation. “I’m sorry I peed in your chair.”
“I’m sorry I scared you,” I reciprocated.
There was a kind of pregnant pause, with both of us wondering how the hell we were going to deal with what felt like a seismic shift in our hateful relationship. I made to pull away… and then we were kissing. A great washing machine on its fast-spin cycle of tongues and lower down, Carrie’s hand began inexpertly rubbing the crotch area of my boxers, mostly avoiding the pleasurable parts of my cock, instead applying uncomfortable pressure to my ball sack.
In the end, I had to move her hand to save her doing me an injury. “Carrie? Have you ever…”
“No,” she said, quickly. I looked into Carrie’s eyes and we shared a moment. Something spiritual. Like our souls had found each other in the dark void of space and were now dancing, vowing never to let each other go. “Never.”
Virgin.
The word popped into my head and gave my cock an involuntary boost of blood.
“Shit! That feels really, really hard now.” Carrie laughed. “Now I get why they call it a boner.”
“Uh huh.” I couldn’t get words out as my cock took over my mental faculties. My cock wanted to have sex with my sixteen-year-old stepsister.
Right now.
I didn’t; my brain was screaming at me, telling me that it was a terrible idea… a fucking terrible idea. But my cock was pointing out the advantages of the living, breathing woman in my arms over one made of a million pixels on my screen.
“Uh huh?” Carrie asked, mocking me. “That’s the best you’ve got? Well, I guess I’m just going to go ahead and see what your cock looks like.”