Is it weird that I've never seen my wife's asshole?

I think it is. A husband ought to know what his wife's asshole looks like—as a sign of intimacy, I mean. Through normal, healthy, married living, a husband and wife will probably, at some point, catch a glimpse of each other's assholes, right? Multiple times, I would imagine. I should be able to, if Esther's asshole ever went missing, describe it to a sketch artist so they could print it on the side of a milk carton.

I barely know what her pussy looks like. In fact, if I had to pick it out of a police line-up, with my wife's pussy and four other random ones, I don't think I could do it.

"Well, this shouldn't take too long, sir. Please, just tell us which pussy belongs to your wife," they'd say.

I'd glance from one to the other, confusion and embarrassment written all over my face. "Fuck," I'd sigh, dropping my head, "I don't know."

I also don't know what her pussy tastes like, which sucks. Right now, if someone came to me and said, "Fuck your wife and I'll give you a thousand bucks or eat her pussy and you get nothing," I'd totally eat her pussy. It would be instantaneous, too, my decision. I wouldn't think about it for a fraction of a fucking second. Boom!—my face is up her crotch.

Esther has never sucked my dick. I've asked. I've tried quite a few strategies. I'd have dressed my cock up like it was going to prom if I thought it would help. Put a little bow-tie on it. A fucking cummerbund. Top hat. Give it a cane and do a dick dance number for Esther.

***

Geez, I fucked up. I fucked up bad. I should never have married Esther. It was just—I had so much invested in her at that point. The fuck was I going to do? Break up? That wouldn't have been me.

My Mom once described me as "fiercely independent." I liked that.

One of my teachers called me "obstinate." I didn't even fucking know what that word meant at the time.

This was the problem: I don't like people telling me what I can and can't do.

When Coach Newhart, an assistant for Boston College, told me I couldn't play quarterback for a power five school and that I ought to list myself as an "athlete," I told my high school coach to list me only as a quarterback. Fuck Newhart.

The head coach of Georgia Tech came to see me play during my junior year. Had one of my best games that night. I fucking dominated. He wanted me to play quarterback for him.

But, he told me he wouldn't offer me a scholarship unless I got my grades up. He said, "Hit the books, kid. We don't offer scholarships to fools."

I knew right then that I would never play for Georgia Tech. Fuck him.

It's not so much that I can't be told what to do. It's more like I hate people thinking they know me, know what I'm capable of. When they do that, this impulse to prove them wrong just seizes me.

So, when my high school pals called me an idiot for trying to date Esther—that there was no way she would ever go out with me—I decided that I was going to be her boyfriend no matter what the cost.

Later after graduation, when all kinds of people told me I shouldn't marry her, I went out and bought a ring.

***

I met Esther in high school. She was a Jehovah's Witness, and she wasn't supposed to interact socially with non-Witnesses like me, but I made her laugh in class.

Esther was the church freak that everyone avoided. To her own classmates, she didn't exist. You only remembered she was there when you heard her name during roll call.

My interest in her began in PE during my freshman year. Esther and I had gym together, and during our warm-ups, her mat was right in front of mine. Every day, I watched her stretch and do calisthenics. By October, I began to look forward to PE and those five or ten minutes.

There was a calmness about her that appealed to me. She was completely at peace with herself and her outcast status. She stretched like she was the only person on the entire gym floor. She would hum some churchy-sounding hymn to herself and stretch as if every movement were of critical importance. She breathed deeply and contorted herself without inhibition. I liked how she didn't give a fuck. She stretched like she was saying, "Fuck you. Laugh at me. I don't care." Of course, she'd never say anything remotely vulgar.

Esther had a heart-shaped face—big cheekbones and a tiny, pointed chin. She had brown eyes and thick eyelashes. When she smiled, which was rare, her teeth shined and her eyes became little crescents. She was pretty, and when she smiled, she was gorgeous. She didn't wear make-up.

Her white-blonde hair was insanely long, almost down to her ass, and very straight. It looked so silky and smooth, Esther's hair, like a waterfall. It was mesmerizing.

A line from an old movie came to me at some point later on: we begin to covet what we see every day. This seemed very true of how I felt about Esther.

We sat next to each other in English during our Sophomore year. I always greeted her, always asked her for help, and always tried to make her laugh. She became my obsession.

I didn't love her. She loved me. Her church wouldn't like us being together and dating, so we kept it a secret.

We made out, but that's it. Nothing more. To go any further, I knew I would have to marry her. By the time we were both eighteen and seniors, her pussy became this lock that I had to get the key for—no matter what the consequences.

A three-year starter at varsity quarterback, I should have been nose deep in pussy. All my friends were getting laid. They gave me shit about it.

Senior year, her parents figured out about us and told the church. She was "marked by the elders," which apparently was a pretty big fucking deal. It sounded to me like a bunch of old assholes jerked off on her face or something.

She cried a lot about being marked, but I managed to keep seeing her. She loved me.

After graduating, we got married, and she was given a formal "reproof" by her church. She was allowed to continue to attend, but no one could socialize with her—even her own family. She was not allowed to talk at meetings. People wouldn't even look at her. During the hearing, she explained to the elders that she was witnessing to me, otherwise they might have kicked her out.

Teams of Witnesses came to our shitty little apartment to speak with me about their faith. The minute they saw me, I could almost see them deflate.

I am a motherfucking predator. No point in trying to be modest about it.

I look like a fucking gladiator: lean, but stacked with rippling muscles.

Witnesses are non-violent. They're all pacifists, getting kicked out if they join the military.

Anyways, my physical build was the opposite of the average male Witness. My body looked poised to wreak havoc. Their bodies looked eager to surrender to any invading force, including one comprised entirely of chinchillas.

They looked at me and said their words. They gave me their books and pamphlets, then left. Really, giving a book to me was like handing a laptop to a baboon. They knew. One look at me, and they understood how I would never fit. It was useless.

So, to finally get some pussy, I married Esther and put off college. When I say college, the best I could have done would have been a community college. No university offered me a football scholarship or even admitted me because of my grades and test scores. I barely graduated.

I also married her because, like I said, people told me not to. So I married her out of pride, lust, and fear—all the worst reasons to get married. It was selfish of me. I took her from her own family. I knew it would create problems, and it did.

On our wedding night, I discovered that oral sex was not an option—for religious reasons. I probably should have done some research. Shit. Well, I put five loads of cum in her little pussy.

Fuck her pussy was tiny. Couldn't tell you what it looked like or how it tasted, but Esther's pussy was a carnival ride for my cock. It barely fit in that silky slit of hers.

My wife never had a conventionally sexy body. It was one you had to study and figure out to see its beauty.

Her tits were neither small nor big. They sloped out and up, like little ski jumps.

Her most prominent feature were her jutting hips. She almost looked like she was wearing football hip pads. Her hip bones were high and forward, shortening her torso, lengthening her sleek, sexy legs, and making her seem like she was always thrusting her waist forward. It was like she was walking around saying, "Have you seen my pussy today?"

I love girls' asses, and Esther's jutting hips kind of hid her ass from view most of the time. But, when it emerged, when she bent over...fuck me. Esther had a secret weapon. Her ass, though low and small, popped out in a gloriously sexy curve when she wanted it to.

Esther is a sweet, sweet girl. She's totally shy but in that attractive, feminine way. And she's strong—not physically—but in her beliefs and how she'll fight for them. But, Esther is fragile. You sense it the better you come to know her. You realize that you could never, ever say a cross word to her or give her a dirty look. When she looked at me, she saw the best in me. She saw me as a learner, not an idiot. She saw my fierce independence, not my obstinacy. How could I not have married this girl? How could I have broken her heart like that?

Despite my stubbornness about not becoming a Witness and her own shaky status in the congregation, Esther kept the faith in every way. She prayed, she read her Watchtower and her New World Bible daily. She abstained from banned substances, foods, and drinks. She would not engage with me in anything other than vaginal sex.

She never let me fuck her doggy style. I asked her where that one was in her New World Bible. She got upset, and I felt really guilty. She's fragile.

We married right after graduation. To keep us both fed, clothed, and sheltered, I found a maintenance job at the CSX railroad, repairing ties and replacing ballast (the rock that the rails and ties rest upon). During my second year, they started hiring conductors like crazy. My foreman liked me, and so I had his recommendation. I went through the program, graduated, and ran trains for a time.

I had zero seniority, so when things got tight for the railroad, I was furloughed. The economy was shit, and I couldn't find work that would keep us going.

Then, my older sister, Star, called me.

***

Star is hard to describe. Three years older than me, she's like a combination of a Disney princess and a frat boy.

During my freshman year of high school, I was sitting on the sofa in the basement watching a movie one afternoon. She came running down the stairs.

"Hey, dickhead!" she called, "You know those big brown sausages they hang from the tops of the meat shelves in supermarkets?"

I turned from the show. "Huh? Yeah."

"I just shit one of those. Had to have been sixteen inches long," she said, smiling, and walking down the steps.

"Fuck, Star! That's fucking sick!"

She started giggling and walked over right beside me. "Smells like buffalo wings, go up there and check it out."

"Aw, fuck, you're going to make me puke. Get away!"

"Should we see what happens if I fish it out of there and put it in the microwave?"

"Star, that is the most disgusting..."

Before I could even finish, she spun around, sat on my arm, and farted on it.

"Star! I'm going to fucking..." I chased her up the stairs and slammed the door behind her. She was laughing the entire time.

Some people teach themselves how to burp; Star taught herself to fart. I don't know how she did it, but she could kind of lean to the side, move her stomach, and then sit back down and fart, and she could do it repeatedly.

One time, Star pissed in a ziplock bag and put it in my backpack with all my books. I found it before it busted open. A few days later, Mom screamed for Star from the kitchen. Mom had found a bag of Star's frozen piss in the freezer. How did she know it was Star's? She knew Star, that's why. Star told me: she was going to use that frozen piss do a kind of delayed piss-bag attack on me at school while it thawed in my locker.

I chewed out Star one time for not wrapping up her tampons well enough in the bathroom trash can.

Big mistake.

Next day, she'd put a used one on the door handle of my bedroom. It was grisly, that fucking thing. I only found out later that it wasn't real; she'd dipped it in chunky salsa.

So there's that part of Star's personality—the raunchy side.

On the other side, she's a total girly-girl. She jumped into make-up at an early age. She loves pink. She did ballet for years. She loves ponies and kittens. She watches romantic comedies and cries during those abandoned pet commercials. There's a gigantic poster of a rainbow unicorn in her room. I'm not shitting. She took it off to college and had it in her dorm room.

She had an athlete's body. Star was a hell of a basketball player. So graceful. She'd go between her legs twice with the ball, fake inside, then drive outside, under the hoop, and do a reverse lay-up. So smooth. I only ever admitted it to myself: Star was hot, just hot. Not pretty or beautiful. Hot. I denied it to my friends, who drooled over her until I punched them in the gut.

She stunned us about half-way through her senior year when she called the entire family into the kitchen and announced that she was a lesbian. She was the prom princess junior year. She had all kinds of boyfriends. What the fuck?

She went off to college, and I continued through high school, pursuing Esther. Guaranteed: my sister got more pussy than I ever did. And she had more fun than I ever did. While my sister and her college friends were partying—hell, while my high school friends were partying—I was watching Esther read the Bible and trying like hell to muster the courage to put my hand on her leg.

I loved Star, but I kind of resented her, too. She just had so much fucking fun. Star was irresistibly fun.

***

Star called me from Boston and told me about a job working for the "T"—the transportation authority up there. One of her friends worked in the Commuter Rail department, running trains from the suburbs as far as Providence into and from the city. The T paid well, and they had a fucking amazing pension plan. They needed crews; they were expanding.

I drove up there, filled out the forms, interviewed, and got the job. Star had a decent place in the Longwood area that she rented. She persuaded her roommate to move out, and she offered the second bedroom to us.

Esther, ever a traditionalist in matters of marriage, deferred to me, and I took the job and the apartment. We were going to live with my sister until I could afford a place of our own.

Of course, Esther let her parents know. So, the church knew. The day before we left, the elders called her in, assembled a judicial committee, and "disfellowshipped" her. Esther was no longer a Witness. She was shunned.

She was fragile; it crushed her.

***

We had been married slightly less than two years on our first night in Boston; Star let us have some privacy.

Esther was quiet on the drive up, quiet during unpacking, and quiet next to me in bed. The lights were out, and in the complete darkness, we laid there. I listened to her breathe.

"Esther?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you hate me?"

"No, sweets."

"You should. Because of me, you've lost your family and your church. I lost my job. Because of me, we lost our apartment. Now, the best I can do for you is rooming with my sister."

I heard her start sniffling.

"I'm so sorry, babe."

"It's not your fault," she whispered. "They furloughed you."

It wasn't what I wanted her to say. She needed to tell me it was all my fault and that she hated me. I wanted her to leave me. That way, I could divorce her.

Part of it was for her own happiness. Esther should have married a nice Witness boy, spent her time at Meeting and prayer, and raised a bunch of believers for kids.

She would never divorce me; I knew that. I wouldn't divorce her, not unless she left me or cheated. But, she wasn't going to have an affair. She was too good for that.

I might have had an affair, except for Esther. I could never break her heart like that.

No, the decision had to be hers. I could never initiate it; that would be like telling the world I'd made a mistake. I'd die before I went that route.

She put her soft little hand on my back. "And you got a new job. And I like your sister. This will give me a chance to get to know her a little better."

At first, Esther really wanted children, right away. I didn't want any kids. Not yet, at least. We hadn't been able to conceive, and not for any lack of cum in her pussy. It was the only fucking place I could put it.

But, within weeks of our marriage, for reasons beyond my understanding, Esther's enthusiasm for sex began to diminish. She began to say she didn't want kids, yet, and she used that as an excuse to avoid having sex with me. I tried to ask her about it, but Esther's faith and her upbringing made sex conversations extremely uncomfortable for her.

The fewer and fewer times we did have sex, it was because I was insistent and she, always dutiful, would let me, asking that I not finish inside her.

So, there'd be a wet spot on the bed, separating us, when we went to sleep.

It was incredibly frustrating for me; I wanted to fuck her every night. I was constantly ready for sex. It surprised—no, alarmed—it alarmed her, my unrelenting desire.

Truth is, I began to feel like I had some kind of problem. Remember, I was almost totally inexperienced in these things, and I was no big reader or learner. I figured I knew how this shit worked. So, I started to feel guilty about how horny I was. Nothing crushed my spirit more than being refused by my own wife, being made to feel like I was some disgusting, sex-crazed maniac.

She never said those things. She probably didn't even believe them. It's just how I felt.

Laying with her in bed, our first night in Boston, I wanted to fuck her. Shit, I was hard.

She was still sniffling. I rolled over and held her, keeping careful not to jab her little ass with my boner.

She fell asleep right away. I laid there and considered jerking off, which I rarely did, despite my hunger for sex.

Then, I heard Star roll in. It was late.

I got up and went out to talk to her. I couldn't fucking sleep.

She was in the kitchen, scrounging for a snack when she heard me. "Oh, it's you," she said, "Where are the chips?"

"I put them in that cupboard there."

"Here?"

"No, that one."

She opened it and pulled out the bag of Lays. "Put them in the pantry next time."

I nodded and collapsed into the couch of our shared living room.

"Can't sleep?" she asked, walking over and sitting in the lazy boy beside me.

"Nah," I responded, "What did you do tonight?"

"Met up with some friends, danced, and had some drinks."

"Meet anyone?"

"Wasn't really looking," she responded, shoving a handful of chips in her mouth.

I listened to her munch.

Then, she asked, "What's being married like?"

"Why? Are you thinking about it?"

She shrugged. "Everybody thinks about it. I mean, is it nice to always have someone? A partner? Someone to always do stuff with? Someone to snuggle with every night?"

"Esther is very nice, very sweet. I don't know. You get used to it, I guess."

"That's not really a ringing endorsement of marriage."

"There's a lot of good things, okay?"

Star smiled at the lie. Then, she said, "Can I ask you something?"

I looked up at her.

"Is it true that you guys don't have oral sex?"

My face contorted into a grimace at her words. "Have you two been fucking talking behind my back or something?"
"No!" she protested. "No. No. No. I read about Jehovah's Witnesses online after you two were engaged."

I looked down at the ground.

"So, it's true," she concluded.

I nodded.

"Wait a minute. Did you know? Before?"

I glanced at her and shook my head.

Star burst into laughter.

"Fuck off, Star. And be quiet. Esther's sleeping."

"Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh. And no anal either, right?"

"Fuck, no," I said. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Then I started chuckling a little.

Our laughter slowly died away, and after a few seconds of silence, Star asked, "When did you two start dating?"

"Beginning of sophomore year."

"That's right," she said, and then her face looked like she was doing mental math and she said, "Have you ever had oral sex, like, in your life?"

"What the fuck do you care, Star?"

"Because it'd be a tragedy if you haven't, that's why."

I sighed. "No, I've never gotten it or given it, okay? Fuck."

"Oh, brother mine, that is one of the saddest things I've heard."

"I'm okay."

"Sure you are," she said drily, and then she asked, "So what can you do together?"

"Fuck. Kiss. Touch."

"Can you suck her tits?"

"Are we having this conversation?"

She stared at me.

I nodded.

Star pursued the subject. "Can you finger her?"

I nodded, saying, "But, not just to do that. It has to be in preparation for sex."

"What else? What can't you do?"

"Look, we can't do anything weird."

"Right, but what's something normal that you can't do?"

"She won't let me fuck her from behind," I said.

"What?!"

I nodded.

"That's, like, the best position, though!"

I stared at her. "Star, you're a lesbian."

"We have strap-ons, dumb ass," she shot back. Then, to my surprise, she added, "And, I don't know, maybe I miss it sometimes."

"You miss guys? Being with guys?"

She sighed. "It probably grosses you out, but dildos are a far, far cry from the real thing."

"I'll take your word for it."

Star engaged the footrest and reclined in the chair. She closed her eyes and said, "Oh, brother mine, aren't we a pair?"

***

I woke up early and showered before heading in to work for training. When I came out, Esther was still asleep.

That never happened. She always woke up when I took a shower. She'd sit up in bed and start the day by reading her New World Bible.

Every morning that week, she skipped it.

After my first week of training was finished, I asked her about it.

She sighed. "I feel like I need to think, not read."

We were all in the family room watching tv on Saturday morning. I could tell that Star, again, had a late Friday night. I asked Esther if she wanted to go into the city, but she glanced at Star for a moment and then said she didn't know.

Star said, "You go ahead. Esther and I are going to hang out."

I went to Harvard Square, just to check it out. Good fucking balls, that was a freak show! Bunch of sun worshipper-looking dudes handing out pamphlets by the stairs, a group of people whose genders I could not decipher protested and chanted by the newspaper stand. All kinds of raggedy musicians hang out there. One dude was even playing the fucking kazoo. Dancing around and playing the kazoo—for money. Even the homeless people in Harvard Square are fucking weird. One guy—a white guy with long dreadlocks—was wearing a bra and panties on the outside of his clothes. I gave him a few bucks.

I may seem like a dick, but I always try to give homeless people a little money. I don't give a shit if they buy a drink with it. If I were homeless, I might want a fucking drink, too.

Anyways, I couldn't imagine a Witness walking through Harvard Square. To them, it'd be like navigating a minefield of devils in hell.

I walked around for a while, went into a couple of shops, ate lunch at Charlie's—pretty good burger joint. Then, before I left, I went into the bookstore—the Harvard Coop. Not for me, of course; Esther's the reader.

I probably sound like an arrogant asshole saying this, but I went to the Self-Help section to find something for Esther. Right. I know. Typical male dickface: he fucks up his wife's life and then buys her the self-help book. Nice.

I wasn't thinking of it that way. I was thinking she was in the dumps and that she liked books. That's it.

So, I wandered through the shelves and, after a while, my eyes came across a book titled, "Disfellowshipped." There was some subtitle, I don't know, I didn't read it. I figured it was a book about how to cope and maybe get back in the church.

What I found out much later was that this book was not in the Self-Help section. I'd wandered past that area into the Religion section. I definitely, definitely got the wrong book for Esther. Holy shit.

But, I didn't know that as I was breaking out my wallet and paying for the fucking thing. I was glad to be leaving the bookstore, having found something that might help my wife feel better.

When I got home, Esther and Star were chatting in the living room. Esther was wiping her eyes. They both glanced up at me as if I were something of an intruder.

"Hey," I said.

Esther got up, walked over, and hugged me. Her eyes were red from crying.

"You okay?" I asked.

She nodded, and I gave her the book, saying I thought it might help. She briefly glanced at it and thanked me.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed a Coke from the fridge. I saw a T pass card on the counter.

"Hey, Star?"

"Yeah?"

I held up the card. "This yours?"

She nodded.

I said, "But, Star, this is a full-ride pass." Her card, the most expensive one, gave her unlimited service for the month on the subway, bus, and commuter rail.

"So?"

"You get this from work?"

She hesitated and then said, "Yes."

"Why? Dana-Farber is, like, a five-minute walk from here. Not even." Star worked for the Jimmy Fund, a fundraising wing of the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.

"I go other places in the city, you know," she responded, smiling condescendingly.

"Dana-Farber pays for that? Even though they know you live here?"

"Yes."

"You use the commuter rail?"

"Sometimes. There's cool places to go outside of the city."

"Huh."

I glanced at the card and flipped it over. "Who's X35 Entertainment Limited?"

Quite a few companies in Boston offer free monthly T passes to employees as a benefit. The unlimited T passes often came stamped on the back with the name of the organization that provided it. Star's didn't have the Dana-Farber insignia, but said "X35 Entertainment Ltd."

She stood up and walked over. There was some urgency in her stride. "I don't know. Who cares?" she asked, reaching for the card.

"Just weird, I guess." I handed it to her.

She took it and put it in her pocket. "Where'd you go today?"

I told her about Harvard Square.

That night, I heard Star roll back in the house at about 2:00am. Again.

***

I slept late Sunday morning. When I woke up, Esther's back was to me. I rolled over and touched her shoulder. She flinched and drew away.

"Esther?"

Quickly, she spun toward me and her eyes were wet and glassy, pink and flushed. The book I had purchased yesterday was in her hands. She pushed it at me. "Did you even read the cover of this book?"

I took the book and looked from it back to her eyes. "It's not...it isn't about being disfellowshipped and what to do?"

"No!" she cried. "Look at it!"

I did. "Disfellowshipped: Abuse of Power in a Dangerous Cult," it read. The letters of the subtitle were stretched, skinny, and hard to read. No wonder I ignored it at the Coop, but, oh, fuck. "It...it was in the self-help section, Ess. I swear."

She rolled away from me, got out of bed, and went into the shower.

I read the back of the book. No, this was definitely not a self-help book for disfellowshipped Witnesses. This was an expose, packed with interviews from former members. It was a book designed to make her religion look abusive and foolish. I threw it down to the floor.

Strangely, on Tuesday morning, when I emerged from the shower, Esther was in bed, reading the book. Wednesday morning, too. And Wednesday night. In fact, Esther was either reading that book or reading on her tablet almost continuously.

When I asked her about it, she looked at me sternly and said, "I'm just reading."

Needless to say, I wasn't getting any pussy.

Esther did not look for work, and Star was okay with that. Esther kept house, and she loved doing it. She did all the laundry, cleaned the place, cooked dinner. Esther was a hell of a cook, too. Star was pleasantly surprised. Esther's cooking almost made up for the fact that I could never eat her pussy. Almost.

Every night, when I slid into bed beside her, she was reading. Her posture in bed signaled for me to stay away, but by Thursday, I was poking her ass with my cock.

"Let me read, please," she said, calmly.

"Esther, please. Just let me."

"Not now."

"Then, will you at least tell me what's got you so interested in that crummy book I bought you?" I never cursed in front of Esther.

She set the book down and rolled over. "Did you read the cover finally?"

"Yeah."

"So you know what it's about?"

"Basically."

She nodded. "I'm reading the book because I want to understand how others view my church, and I'm using the tablet to check their facts for myself."

"Like research or something?"

"Kind of, yes. Like a research project on the Watchtower." The Watchtower was the headquarters of all Witnesses.

"Can you tell me what you're finding out?"

She squinted a little and said, "I'm not sure the Watchtower is what I thought it was." She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and then rolled back over, opening her book.

"Ess?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I just...can I just use your body for a few minutes? You can keep reading."

I felt like an idiot saying it, but I couldn't help myself.

Esther flipped over and chewed me out for not treating sex seriously enough or some shit. I don't know. I was watching her lips, wondering what they might feel like on my dick.

The next day was June 1st. We didn't see Star all day. Esther kept reading.

On Saturday, I woke up early and went into the kitchen to eat some cereal. I saw a June T pass on the counter. Another unlimited one.

I looked around. Star was still zonked out from her late night. Man, I thought, she parties hard every weekend.

I grabbed it and flipped it over. X35 Entertainment Ltd, again.

This was no coincidence. Two cards from the same outfit? Plus, I had actually seen Dana-Farber unlimited passes. The logo didn't look anything like this.

I went back to our bedroom and grabbed the tablet from Esther's nightstand. I looked up the company.

It took me a few minutes, but I found it.

No way.

What I learned hit me like a cannonball to the gut. It was one of those bits of information that showed how fifteen other bits of information that I'd known for a while and been ignoring suddenly were all interconnected and made perfect sense.

Still, I said out loud, "No fucking way."

I spent a little bit more time on the tablet, looking up a few things, and then I gave myself a little mission.

I wasn't sure I wanted to do it, but I had to know.

Over lunch, I mentioned to Esther that I was going to go out with some buddies from work that night.

Star asked where we were going.

I told her Landsdowne Street near Fenway Park.

She nodded and said that she was going out, too.

Esther said she wanted to stay in and read.

I told Star to text me if she thought she might make it out to Fenway.

She nodded.

I left around 6:00, but not before something strange happened.

Esther hates it when I drink. Hates it. She won't talk to me for days. The few times I've been really sauced, I learned to stay the hell out of our bed. Anymore, nine times out of ten, I just tell her that I'm not drinking, and then I'll have some vodka, but not too much. She hasn't yet smelled it on my breath, but I have to be careful.

Before I left, Esther said, "You know, if you want to have some wine tonight, you should."

I stared at her.

She continued, "But, just wine, and not too much, okay?"

"Wine?"

She nodded.

I was stunned. Esther giving me the green light to drink alcohol? I said, "Okay."

What the fuck?

I went to a store downtown and picked up a few items I needed for the evening, and then I went back to Landsdowne Street, a place called Jillian's. I had a burger and a Dr. Pepper, watching the NBA playoffs. Yep, I went to Landsdowne Street, just like I said I would. But, this was not my final destination.

I was headed to Lagrange Street, downtown. Lagrange is practically an alley, not too far from the Commons on the Green Line. So, at 9:00pm, I paid my tab and went to the bathroom with my little bag of goods. I put them on, and then left Jillian's, taking the T into Boylston. From there, I walked over to Lagrange Street.

I was nervous.

But, I wouldn't be recognized. I was wearing a Northeastern University ball cap and a shitty fake mustache—stuff I picked up earlier that evening. In the mirror back at Jillian's, I thought, fuck, I look like an undercover cop or a sex offender.

I walked to the door. The cover was only $20, which surprised me. Music was bumping. There was a super high ceiling and a loft area above. In front, a raised white platform jutted out into the center of the area, maybe ten feet wide. It ended in a larger circle. In the middle of the circle was a silver pole that stretched from the floor to the ceiling at least 25 feet up.

The raised white platform was lined with barstools. High tables and chairs filled the place. A wide semi-circular staircase wound up to the loft area. The place was pretty packed and lights were dancing and moving all over the place.

A beautiful blonde server ushered me to a table against the far wall. I ordered a vodka tonic and watched a young red-headed woman in a very revealing Catholic school uniform gyrate on the platform.

I was at a place called Centerfolds. It was owned and operated by X35 Entertainment Limited.

'Roided-out bouncers eyeballed me and the other patrons almost continuously. I wondered if there was ever a moment when I wasn't being watched. My drink arrived. $18 bucks for a vodka tonic. I tipped her two dollars with an even $20. She was not impressed.

The redhead untied the knot of her white shirt between her breasts and threw it off, revealing a black lace bra.

I looked up toward the loft area. Two bouncers stood on either side of the steps at the top. There appeared to be tables, couches, loungers, and a few patrons.

My server came back. "Thinking about heading up to the loft?"

I said, "Uh, no, I was just wondering what was up there."

"Your dreams are up there, sweetie."

I smiled politely.

She explained, "Private rooms, private massages, semi-private dances and lap dances. It's $100 per hour to go up and you have to buy at least one bottle of champagne."

"How much is the champagne?"

"$200."

"I think I'll stay here."

The redhead was topless now, and her breasts were kinda big. No pasties at this place, nipples were fully on display. Below, she was down to her panties. Again, black lace. Scanty things. Fuck, she was gorgeous.

A bouncer came up to me and asked if I was expecting any friends to show up.

When I told him no, he nodded and turned away curtly. I guess these guys are trained to treat the cheap assholes like shit to make space for the big spenders.

I never liked these places. Been to a few. It's all a tease, and I don't like being teased.

Oh, I know. I suppose if I dropped two and a half grand, I could probably get my cock finally sucked, but I would never do that—not even during the short time that I had been single. And, fuck, what if you drop two and a half grand and don't get your cock sucked? How shitty would that be?

My neck craned forward and my jaw dropped. This place was different: the redhead removed her panties. She was completely naked up there. I saw the whole thing: the kit and the caboodles. She spun on her hands and knees and pointed her pink pussy at the patrons on my side.

Fuck. I took a big drink. Maybe the tease wasn't so bad.

I fended off two more staff members, inviting me to the loft area. Got unwelcome looks from both of them. I ordered another vodka tonic from my server and tipped her $5. Her face crinkled into a smile. I nursed it while two more dancers, both sexy, came and went.

Then, the DJ announced the next dancer. There was some fanfare to it, as if the guy knew this next dancer was a favorite. "Here comes...Stella!"

A guy next to the platform reared back and screamed, "Stella!!" Some line from an old movie, I think—the way he said it.

The new stripper came out to "Bulls on Parade."

My sister emerged from the dangling screen of diamond string beads with a pink punk-rocker pig-tailed wig, short jean jacket riddled with old rock buttons over a halter-top, and a form-fitting, torn jean skirt with very revealing ripped cut-outs on her hips. She wore tall black boots, and she was covered with black leather and chrome jewelry and chains.

It was the way she walked. I knew it was her, instantly. Everything was confirmed.

I had a feeling that her apartment was a little too nice, a little too well-located for a young woman with a mid-level marketing gig at a non-profit. How the hell could she pay for it? And, there was the fact that Star had been gone late at night on, like, every Friday and Saturday. Then, there was a time Esther had asked about something in Star's bag one night before she left the apartment. I didn't know what the hell they were talking about; I was watching tv. But, I remember Star explaining that it was for a costume party. I wondered why it didn't dawn upon me, then, that a costume party in May was a little strange.

Seeing her up there explained everything.

I watched the guys who were watching Star, and I started to get pissed. I ordered another drink, tipping $10 this time. I think I got a real smile, but I was ignoring it. I barely knew what Star was doing up there. My heart pounded, my muscles pumped with blood as I saw these fucking dildos ogle my sister.

My gaze must have been filled with hatred. A bouncer stepped in front of me.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

I awoke from a kind of anger-trance and looked at the dude. A big fucker in a cream silk suit with a blue tie; he had an earpiece in his right ear with a coiled wire down his thick neck. "I'm fine," I said.

He stared at me for a few seconds and then turned away.

"Wait," I called to him.

He turned back to me.

"How long has Sta...Stella been working here?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself in the loft? She'll be up there when she's done here."

I shook my head, and he left me alone. I scanned the room, looking for dicks who might try to fuck with Star. When I looked back to the stage, I was transported.

I use that word—transported—and I'm not even sure I know exactly what I mean by that, but it seems right: I was transported.

Star was topless and in just her panties. Everything else was gone—the jean jacket, the boots, everything—except the panties and a black, chrome-studded collar.

Fuck, she was incredible. I got it now, why these dudes were all standing, cheering, and hooting—why the area surrounding the stage was shoulder-to-shoulder and nuts-to-butts with grown men, staring.

Star was hot as fuck. Her skin was flawlessly tanned, smooth and rich. The form of her body was perfectly feminine—a tight little hourglass figure. Her tits were fucking perfect. Fucking perfect. Just over a handful, each, with fat nipples. They barely jiggled. Those tits were like boners on her chest. Her legs were sleek and strong. She had beautiful inverted bowling pin calves. Her feet were even perfect, and I could give a shit about feet.
The best was her core. From her belly button to the top of her thighs, on both sides, was a fucking wet dream. The slopes and curves were smooth and compact. Fuck, her ass! I cursed and felt my mouth water when I saw it. Then, she turned around and those tiny panties accentuated that perfect nothing between her legs. This was a body built for fucking cock.

And she was a lesbian. I slowly shook my head in disbelief.

What made everything all the more insane was the fact that Star was exceptionally graceful. All the other dancers had skills, faces, and bodies, but Star up there, man, she had an athlete's strength and a ballet dancer's lightness. She was an academy award winner; the other's had been high school musical hacks. Weird, I know, saying this, but it wasn't just sexy, her dance. It was beautiful. The way she moved, it was artistic.

She took off her panties, and I drained my drink. I guess I ordered another one; I don't remember. It came to me, and I must have paid while I leered at my sister's perfect little pussy—and it was little. But, Star's was clean-shaven, as if there never in her life had been a single hair there.

Soon, she was laying on her tummy, legs spread toward the crowd, and both hands were under her, one held her pussy wide open, the other rubbed on her clit in little circles. Then, she slowly lifted her ass off the floor and, arching her back, pointed that perfect butt to the vaulted ceiling. She pulled her ass apart, airing out her little asshole, and gyrated her hips in circles.

Every fucker in the place was dreaming, as I was, of fucking her.

When her show ended, I walked over to the ATM and withdrew $400. It would hurt, but it wouldn't break us. I had, after all, just gotten paid.

I watched Star—Stella—walk up to the loft, organizing all the bills she had been handed during the course of her show. It was a fistful. It was a shit load.

I signaled to a bouncer and told him I wanted to go up. He escorted me to the top, and I paid $100 to get in. I asked to be seated in a corner table. They put me in a corner love seat with a small table in front.

Another gorgeous server—this one with miles of cleavage—came up to me, and I ordered my champagne. Hey, Esther, I thought, I'm going to be drinking wine, just like you asked. Champagne's made of grapes, right?

They brought it, and I paid $220 with the tip.

This was risky. I knew it. But, I couldn't stop myself. I had to see more of Star. I was addicted to the sight of her body, the way it moved.

Before this night, I'd known my sister was hot. I'd known it as her brother, though, which is different. It annoyed me; it didn't turn me on. I knew she had a nice body, but I didn't even care about it. Knowing my sister was hot was like knowing it was going to be a beautiful day in China—great...who cares? I ain't in China.

Now, I saw things differently.

I took a sip of the champagne and began to lament all of the opportunities I had missed as a younger man to sneak peeks at my sister. I wished I could go back in time.

More people came up behind me, and soon, the place was jam-packed. I scooted over for some asshole in a cowboy hat who laid a fan of fifties on the table in front of him.

Star saw it, caught the guy's eye, and he waved her over. Oh, fuck.

A bouncer followed Star. Cowboy Hat asked for a lap dance.

"Remember, no touching," Star told him, grinning. He handed her two fifties. She passed them to the bouncer and went to work.

She was topless, still, but her panties were back on. Star played her role well, asking his name, talking to him about his big cock—all the while grinding her body on his. She squashed her tits in his face. She put her feet on his shoulders, her hands on the table, and gave him an in-your-face pussy show. She rubbed her ass on every part of the guy. He gave her two fifties during and another one when she finished. She smiled, kissed him full on the lips, and moved on to the next customer.

When I put aside my jealousy over that kiss, I noticed that I had drunk about a third of the bottle during Star's show.

Cowboy Hat turned to me. "Sweet whores of Hell, that Stella is sexy! Don'tcha think, buddy? Don'tcha?"

I nodded.

He slugged down his own champagne, and I—not wanting to get too drunk—refilled his with my bottle.

"Hey! You're alright. Thanks, buddy!" He held his glass up and waited. I took mine and raised it. He roared, "To Stella's tits! They give me fits!"

He guffawed, and we drank. Before I set my glass down, he shook my sleeve and gestured for me to raise mine again.

He waited for me.

I said, "Uh, to Stella's ass—the best in class."

He laughed so hard that I started laughing. We drank.

I refilled our glasses. He raised his again, so I did, too.

He roared, "To Stella's cunny! Sweeter than honey, and it don't smell funny!"

He fucking lost it, slapping his knees and leaning into me. I drank, chuckling a little.

When he regained control, he asked, "You ever get a lap dance from her?"

I shook my head.

"Oh, hell, you gotta."

I raised my hand and rubbed my thumb against my fingers, shaking my head.

"No, no, no. Hell with that. You're getting one, buddy. I wanna watch," he grunted. "Hey, Stella!"

He was holding up two more fifties in the air. Star saw it, smiled, and walked over. Oh, shit. I tilted my hat lower and took a drink.

Not watching, I heard him yell, "Stella, this is for my buddy here. He said your ass was the best in the class." He guffawed. I heard Star giggle.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Was anything I wore a dead giveaway? I scanned my clothes. My arms? Would she recognize me? Oh, shit.

"What's your name, big boy?"

Would my voice give me away? I needed to respond, like, now. I made up a name, but totally fucking blew it. I was planning on saying "Hank," but at the last second decided on "Patrick." I said, "Hatrick." Fuck me.

Cowboy Hat spun toward me, "Your name is Hatrick, buddy?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Hatrick."

"I like it," Star cooed, "it's really unique." Star walked over and straddled my legs. "No touching, okay, Hatrick?"

I nodded. Hatrick. What a shit-for-brains.

Then, Cowboy Hat yelled, "Take off your Hatrick, Hatrick!" He swiped it off my head, and Star and I were looking at each other.

I was fucked. I saw her eyes take in my face. Recognition.

Fuck. Fucking mother fuck.

I sighed and stared at her. Her eyes went wide, and for a fraction of a second, there was fear.

I tried to give her a look that said, "Sorry?"

She glanced down at the ludicrous fake mustache and then back into my eyes. Star's eyebrows pinched together and rose up a little. Her lips quivered. She was about to start laughing.

I was going to laugh, too. I pressed my lips together and drew them sideways, tilting my head the same direction just a fraction.

Hatrick. Ridiculous.

Star scooted forward in my lap, turned toward Cowboy Hat, and said, "Ooh, I think Hatrick's got a big dick."

I was hard. Really hard. Had been for at least an hour. I was wearing jeans, so everything was all crowded, forced sideways, and squashed down there in my pants. But, despite her words, Star's crotch was nowhere near my cock. It was one of those things that strippers just said.

Suddenly, she stood up, backed away, pushed my knees apart, and knelt between them. She shoved me against the back of the couch and told Cowboy Hat that she needed to suck my cock.

She said, "I bet all kinds of girls have sucked on this cock." Then, she looked up at me with a smirk and winked.

You fucking little bitch, I thought.

Her head dove into my crotch.

There was no physical contact. It was all an act, but a good one. Her head bobbed and twisted, rose and fell. After a few seconds, she rose off me and slurped, wiping a line of drool from her lips and looking right at Cowboy Hat.

He handed her a fifty. She took it, blew him a slow, sensual kiss, and handed it to the bouncer. Then, she went back to work.

It was so stupid, really. Star was using me to get this idiot beside me to keep forking over the cash. She knew she could go a little bit further than usual because, hey, I was her brother.

That sounds fucked up, I guess, but I think it makes sense. I wasn't a danger to her is what I mean.

Cowboy Hat backhanded my shoulder and said, "She's something, eh, buddy?"

Payback time. "I've had better," I said.

Star stopped, looked up at me, and laid her left forearm across my lap. She turned to my neighbor and said, "Hatrick doesn't even know what a good blowjob feels like."

Cowboy Hat took one of her meanings; I took the other. Oh, Star, you fucking cunt. I am going to...

I didn't see her other arm slip between my legs. Nobody did, but my balls and the base of my cock were suddenly and painfully in her grip.

I turned to Cowboy Hat and said, urgently, "Just kidding, man. She's the best. Really. The best ever."

He nodded, smiling. "Oh, yeah, Hat-man!"

I felt Star's fingers relax, and then I felt something else.

Star began talking to Cowboy Hat, making him smile and laugh, but her fingers started—I don't know—checking me out, I guess. They gently gripped and released my balls, then the lower end of my cock, then further up the shaft, and finally her fingers slid over the tip. Then I felt her index and middle fingers, pressed together, start at the base and slowly glide along the entire shaft, like she was verifying what she'd just felt.

I gulped and stared down at her, but she was still talking to Cowboy Hat. Her hand slid away from between my legs and Star removed her forearm from across my lap. She looked up at me, eyes intent, mouth hanging open.

She grabbed my shirt and pulled me close. It was a show of ferocious horniness for Cowboy Hat. She pretended like she was sucking my neck. What she actually did was ask two questions in my ear.

"Is what's in those jeans a part of your idiotic disguise?" She pushed me back.

I shook my head.

She pulled me back to her. "Holy shit, brother mine," she said, "Me—your sister—I gave you that big fucking hard-on?" She pushed me away, watching my eyes.

I shrugged and nodded.

She stood up and pushed my legs together. Star sat on my lap, straddling me, and then she put her hands behind her, on my knees. She pushed herself up and put her feet on my shoulders. Turning to Cowboy Hat, she said, "I need my little pussy licked."

She thrust her crotch towards my face, and I watched Star's barely-covered pussy come at me, stopping short of my nose by fractions of an inch. She tilted her head back and began moaning at the ceiling. Her hips rolled in little circles, and I could smell her body. Sticking my tongue out less than an inch, I could have felt her pussy on the tip. But, I remained still.

Cowboy Hat liked the show. Star saw him, smiled, and said, "I like the feel of money on my tits."

So, the guy grabbed another one of his fifties, stood up and dragged the bill over Star's tits, which, even though Star's chest was almost horizontal, those tits were completely unfazed by gravity. They stuck up like two fat rockets.

He didn't touch her—only the bill did—and the bouncer was watching very, very closely. Star turned to Cowboy Hat and cooed, "I bet it would feel even better on my pussy." Then, Star tilted her head at me and said, "Can you slip my panties down, Hatrick? Just a little?"

I reach over the top of her legs, grabbed the tiny straps of her panties, and pulled them towards my face. The bouncer inched closer.

Before my view was blocked by a fifty dollar bill, my sister's bare pussy was three inches from my mouth. I smelled it, and my heart raced.

Suddenly, the back of Cowboy Hat's fucking hand was in my face, dragging that bill around my sister's crotch. I was annoyed.

"Leave it there, baby," she told him, and then she said, "Put my panties back, Hatrick." I drew her panties back over her pussy, trapping the bill between her panties and her skin. Then Star lifted her crotch up above my head for a moment, and her ass was right there before my eyes. When she came back down, the bill was gone. Bouncer swiped it, I guess.

She climbed off me and turned around, presenting her ass to me. She rolled it in circles a few inches from my face, and then looked at Cowboy Hat and said, "Some guys have told me that my asshole is too tiny and tight to fuck. Would you boys take a look and tell me what you think?"

Cowboy Hat sprang forward and grabbed another fifty. Star took it, handed it to the bouncer, and then dropped her panties in from of me. She reached back and pulled her ass apart, holding those tiny panties with one hand, arching her back, and leaning back towards my face.

I'm no connoisseur of women's assholes. I was much more interested in Star's pussy, but I liked what I saw.

She rose and turned around. "Well?"

I wanted to look annoyed by her, but my heart wasn't in it. I said, "It's perfect."

"Why, thank you, Hatrick!" she responded, adding a girlish giggle. She stepped over to Cowboy Hat and repeated the act.

I enjoyed the profile view of Star's legs, ass, and tits. When my eyes reached her head, I found her looking back at me. My face had to have been filled with burning desire. She smiled and then turned back to Cowboy Hat.

"What do you think, baby?" she asked him.

He licked his lips and responded, "Tight and tiny and teee-riffic!" He burst out in laughter, smacking my shoulder.

Star thanked him, kissed him, and walked away.

I poured the remains of my bottle in Cowboy Hat's glass, thanked him, grabbed my hat, and told him I was off to the bathroom.

He laughed, "Don't clog the drain with cum, Hat-man!"

I pissed and walked out of Centerfolds, not even looking at the new dancer on the main stage.

***

It was after midnight when I walked into our apartment. I was drunk, but not hammered. I went to the bathroom, used our alcohol-free mouthwash, and made sure I didn't smell like hell.

Esther was asleep.

Not for long, I hoped.

We hadn't fucked since before we moved to Boston. I was horny as hell from Star's show. I stripped naked and slid into bed.

Her back was to me, and I was already half hard. I scooted up against her, nuzzled through her hair into her neck and kissed her there, whispering, "Esther, will you let me? Can I put it in you?"

She stirred awake and rolled towards me. She said, "I've been so wrong, sweets. So wrong. It's like, my whole life has been a waste."

"What are you talking about, Ess?"

"I finished the book—your book you got me. And I can't believe it. I mean—I do...I do believe it. The Watchtower, the Elders, the Church, the whole thing. Good people. Beautiful people. My family! All of them slaves to the Church. None of them free. Faith should set you free, sweets, but the Watchtower enslaves people. God gave us free will and my whole life I've been giving it up the Them."

"You mean you're done with your Church? You don't want to be a Witness any more?"

"Never again. No."

"Esther, I'm sorry. I...I didn't know. I never should have gotten you..."

"Sweets, no! I'm glad you got me the book, don't you see?" she urged.

"You're okay?" I asked.

"I'm definitely not okay, but I might be starting to go there."

"Well...good, I guess."

She smiled, and she was so beautiful. I kissed her and reached up for her breasts.

She stiffened and pushed me away.

"Esther, what?"

"Not now. Not tonight."

"Please, Ess. I need you. Feel me." I reached for her hand, but she drew it away. "Hey!" I argued.

She looked angry when she spoke. This was like seeing Bigfoot, seeing Esther pissed. She said, "I'm starting a new life tonight. I'm not some toy for your penis anymore."

"What?!"

"That's what I've been, Sweets. That's the old me. That's the slave that I was. No more."

"What do you mean 'no more?'" I asked. "No more sex?"

"I don't know. But, not tonight. Not now."

"Ess, I love you. You can't...I'm your freaking husband..."

"...and I was your servant. Never your equal. I laid there and you...you buried that thing in my body over and over again, and I just took it, and you hurt me, and I never liked it."

I was floored. Without a word, I sat up and climbed out of bed. I snatched shorts from our dresser, hoisted them on, and strode out of the room.

I paced the kitchen, storming. I hurt her? I fucking hurt her?! Why the fuck didn't she ever tell me I hurt her?

And she never liked it? That was like saying she never liked me. Not liking my cock was like not liking the very essence of who I was.

Didn't she have orgasms? I thought she did. Was she faking it?

Why did I fucking marry her? What the fuck had I been thinking? Stupid fucking cunt.

I laid on the couch, a part of me shocked and guilt-ridden that I might have hurt her, another part of me thundering and raging, dreaming of going back in that room and impaling her with my dick.

I was never going to sleep.

But, somehow, I had. I woke up when the apartment door opened and Star came in. It was nearing 2:00am.

She threw her stuff on the kitchen counter and said, "Waiting up for me, Hatrick? Nice fucking name, by the way."

"No, and fuck off, Star. I don't want to talk about it."

She grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down on the lazy boy, curling her feet under her ass. She popped the top, took a long pull, and then farted. "What are you doing on the couch, then?" She burped.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Are you in a fight with Esther?" Then, Star gasped and said, "She found out where you were tonight!" She said it, sounding almost excited.

"No and no...well, yes and no."

"Yes to which one?"

"The fight. But, it's not a fight; it's an argument," I said.

Star nodded and took another drink. "I like Esther. You need to be nice to her."

"Star can we please not..."

She spoke over me. "You need to just let her win any argument that you have. That's what I would do."

"Thanks for the marital advice from a stripper," I mumbled.

Her beer can hit me on my nose, hard. Then it rolled over my chest, spilling ice-cold beer over my belly. I grunted, "Ow!" and seized the can, lifting it upright and leaping off the couch.

Star laughed at me. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a towel, wiping myself dry.

"Get me a fresh beer, Hatrick, you asshole."

I probably earned what I had gotten, so I grabbed her one and went back to the couch, blotting the few wet spots.

She cracked it and took a drink. "You know you deserved..."

"I deserved it," I finished. Then, I threw the towel on the floor and laid back down.

Star was across from me, and she looked clean. Not a shred of evidence of the night's work. She looked like she'd just come in from a night out with friends, except for the fact that she wore not a bit of make-up.

"Why did you come?" she finally asked.

I shrugged. "I had to know."

"What did you expect to see?"

"I don't know. I thought maybe you were a server or a bartender, but I had to find out."

"You could have asked."

I shrugged.

"So, why didn't you leave when I came out on the dance floor?"

I sat up. "Look, Star, at first it was like I was angry—not so much at you, but at the guys screaming at you and leering and stuff. I felt protective. I was watching them more than I watched you. It...they offended me, I guess."

"And then?"

"Well, I didn't expect it to be full-on nudity, Star. I've never been to a place like that. I'd been to topless and pasty places. I didn't expect it."

She looked at me doubtfully. "But, surely you didn't show up right when I came out. You saw the dancers before me."

"Yeah, I did. Three of them."

She nodded. "So?"

"So, when I saw you—when I really looked at you—I didn't want to stop looking. There. That good enough?"
She sighed and took a drink. Then, she said, "Why did you go to the loft?"

"Same."

"You had to have dropped at least $300 to go up there. How much did you spend tonight?"

"About $450."

"I figured."

"How much did you make tonight?"

"About $3,000."

"Are you shitting me?"

She shook her head. "I pulled in about $5,000, but we always give a percentage to the staff."

"So, in a weekend, you're making, like six?"

She nodded. "Bad weekends, say, about three grand. Good weekends about eight. Great ones? I've had one where I made more than ten thousand in one night."

"Holy shit, Star."

"I know."

"And are you...I mean, to make that, do you have to...?"

"No. I would never, ever do that. Some girls do. I don't. I don't care what they pay me."

I sat back.

She continued, "What you saw was as far as I go."

"How much did you make off the cowboy hat guy tonight?"

"Him alone, probably close to $900, maybe a thousand."

I shook my head in wonder. She took another drink.

"When did you start?"

She smiled. "About eight months after I moved here. A work friend had a party at her place—not too far from here, actually. I saw how nice it was, and I knew I had to make more money. My old commute from Watertown took me an hour on the T—number 71 bus to Harvard Square, Red Line to Park, Green Line to Longwood. I hated it. Anyways, I dated a girl who knew how much exotic dancers could make, so I started looking for places. I knew I could do it, watched a couple of videos. On Amateur Night at Centerfolds, I went on stage and killed. They hired me after I left the stage."

"So, what? Two years you've been doing it?"

She nodded and downed the rest of her beer. She belched and said, "Nice disguise tonight."

"When I had the hat on, I was okay."

"You were okay," she admitted. "What the hell kind of name is Hatrick? Did you mean, like, a hat trick? Like in hockey?"

"No," I said, and I explained my flub. She laughed at me and got up to grab another beer. I watched her body, remembering.

She bent over, leaning into the fridge, and I asked, "So, you just watched a few videos and figured you could do it?"

She called back to me, "If you know how to fuck and know what guys like, it's not that hard." Then, she started gyrating her ass while she rooted around in the fridge.

Memories from the night flooded my mind.

"See?" she said, rising with a beer and a cosmic brownie.

I nodded and she came back to the couch.

I was only wearing long basketball-style shorts. They were white with black stripes on the sides. I had no underwear on underneath them and no shirt. I had nothing to hide the boner that was slowly filling and growing. Thinking about it only made it harder. I crossed my hands in my lap while Star sat down and cracked her third beer.

She glanced at my lap, and then took a drink. Then, she engulfed her brownie in, like, two bites.

My cock kept extending. Go down, I thought, go away. But, the head of my growing cock began to push against the back of my wrist. I let the tip slide under and pushed it down toward my thigh. But, the contact with my body felt good. It was exactly the kind of warm friction that my cock was begging for. It began to extend down my leg.

Star looked at me and said, "So, I guess you liked what you saw tonight?"

"Star, don't. It's embarrassing."

"Will you get me another cosmic brownie?" she asked, suddenly.

I gulped. "Why? I'm comfortable."

She dropped the pretense. "Show me. Come on," she said, and then she leaned to the side and farted. "I know you're trying to hide it."

"Hide what?"

"Your boner. You've got one," she said, gesturing towards me with the beer can. "No guy ever sits like that."

"I'm not getting up."

Star laughed at me. "You can't shut off the light because you'd have to get up and show me. You can't roll on your belly because I'd still see. So, you're just going to wait for it to go down?"

I shrugged.

She continued, "But, you're forgetting something."

"What?"

"You're a boy, and I'm a girl, and I have complete control over you."

I sneered. "Yeah, right."

"No, look: the minute it starts going down, all I have to do is stand up and stretch a little, show you some cleavage, pick something up off the floor in front of you, and you're hard again."

I began to respond.

She waved me off. "I don't even have to get up, really. I could just sit here and grab my tits. Or, no! I don't even have to do that. I could just talk to you. I could tell you about my pussy or talk about sucking cock, and you'd be hard again."

I sighed.

She smiled. "So, you see, brother mine, I've got you by the cock—so to speak."

"Why? Why do you want to see?"

She tilted her head side to side a few times and said, "Maybe some of the same reasons that you looked at me. I'm not the only one with good genes in this family, and...I don't know...I made a discovery earlier tonight about you. I want to see. Besides, it's only fair. You saw every inch of me."

"I'm not dropping my shorts, Star."

She shook her head. "I didn't ask you too."

I stood and put the tent in my shorts on full display.

Star stared at it for a few moments, and then she scooted forward in her chair, looked me in the eyes, and said, almost whispering, "The shorts, too, please."

I was about to protest, but I didn't want to. I wanted her to look at me. Fuck, I was hard.

I lifted the elastic band over the tip and down to my thighs. She looked for what felt like a long time, and then she smiled up at me. "Sit down," she whispered, and I did.

Something in her smile was different. Star got up from her chair and slowly walked over in front of me. She glanced down at my cock, and then she turned around and pulled down her pants and panties, together. Damn, her ass was incredible.

"Star..." I began, but I stopped when she moved.

Her bare ass lowered onto my thighs, and she scooted backward until her lower back was pushing my cock into my stomach and her ass was on my scrotum.

Then, she farted. It was loud and airy. It sounded like a snippet of a motorcycle, gunning it.

She jumped off me, laughing and yanking her shorts up.

"Aw, sick!" I yelled. I grabbed for her, but she was out of reach.

She sped behind the kitchen counter. I shot up and yanked my shorts over my cock, darting toward her. Star's hands were on the counter and she crouched, prepared to go either way around it to flee.

I stopped. It was no use, chasing her. We'd wake up Esther, anyways.

Star was almost tearful with laughter, whispering, "I farted on your balls!"

"I'm going to kill you, Star," I warned her, but I was laughing too. "My balls felt the blast of air, you know. Fucking sick."

Star threw her head back in rapturous, though mostly silent, laughter.

I collapsed on the couch, and she, seeing no threat, came back to the chair. The feel of Star's ass on my thighs lingered. Fuck, it felt good—smooth, tight, and warm.

She said, "So, was your fight with Esther—I'm sorry, your argument—about sex?"

I shrugged.

"Let me guess," she went on, "you wanted to fuck, and she wasn't in the mood. You got pissy and came out here to show her how mad you were."

"No...well, yes. Sort of. You make it seem like I was being a little pansy about it. It wasn't like that, and I don't want to talk about it, okay? Quit fucking asking me." The last words came out with real bitterness and anger.

Star's smile vanished. "Is it serious?"

"Fuck, yes, it is."

"I'm sorry."

I sat there in silence. The mood was killed, and my cock began to fall. I thought about Esther and how I might have hurt her. I thought about how she'd never liked it when I fucked her, and these ideas made me absolutely sick to my stomach.

When I looked up, Star had tears in her eyes.

"Star..."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know." Her head fell to her chest, and she wept, trembling. Her skin turned pink and splotchy.

I went over to her. "Star, no. It's not...I'm not angry at you. Please don't cry." I rubbed her back. She leaned into me, crying. Fuck.

Her voice wavered when she said, "I knew she was unhappy. She told me what happened with her church. I just...I'm sorry."

She wasn't drunk. She was just...Star. It was so her: spontaneously playful and raunchy, spontaneously sweet and innocent. None of it was an act. She was really broken up.

"Want me to carry you to your room?" I asked.

She looked up at me and nodded, sniffing and wiping her eyes. "Okay."

As kids, whenever we got in a fight or when she was sad, I could always make amends or make her feel better by carrying her. Weird, I know, but that's my sister.

I picked her up. She put her arm around me and watched me as I took her into her room and laid her in bed. She smiled when I pulled the sheets and blankets over her and tucked her in.

"Good night, Star," I said.

"I love you, brother mine." So often, those words—brother mine—came out from her sarcastically or condescendingly. This time she sounded fond and loving.

I nodded, glancing at her rainbow unicorn poster. Then, I shut off the light and went back to the couch to think, and maybe, sleep.

***

When I woke up, I was on the thick rug on the floor of the living room—the couch was way too soft for me. It was 7:30 or so; I wasted no time. I went into our bedroom, showered, dressed, and left. I needed space and time. Esther may have been awake when I was dressing, but I really didn't know.

I jumped on the Green Line and went up to near the Public Gardens. I walked around the pond, thinking. I crossed the street and walked around the Common. Then, I went into the Dunkin Donuts up near the State House and grabbed a couple of chocolate glazed and a Coke. I ate them as I walked back through the Common and the Public Gardens. Eventually, I started walking down the promenade on Comm Ave, checking out the statues every block or so. Shit, it was a beautiful morning.

By the time I had crossed over to the Fens, I figured I would just stroll all the way back home. The whole trip took a little over two and a half hours, and I got a lot of thinking done.

I started with the basic premise that I would leave Esther, and probably divorce her, depending on a few factors. She wants her freedom from my so-called slavery? Fine, it's yours, Ess. You're free. Go fuck yourself.

And just how was she a slave? I didn't make her do anything. I didn't ask her to keep house at the apartment. I didn't ask her to cook, clean, and do laundry. She just grabbed those jobs. I thanked her all the time for it, too. I complimented her cooking. I told her how much I appreciated coming home to a fresh, clean place. If she had told me she wanted to get a job, I would have said, "Go for it, Ess." I really, really resented the idea that she felt like she was my slave. I hadn't done anything to make her feel that way.

The sex thing made me even more pissed. Esther had made it sound like I was basically raping her. What did she say? She was a toy for my cock or something? And that my cock was a "thing" that I stuck in her over and over again? Made it sound like I had her tied up in some fucking dungeon. And didn't she say that she hated it and that I had hurt her?

Damn.

What a horrible thing to say to your husband.

Still, I admit I second-guessed myself. Did I not know how to fuck? Was I putting it in the wrong hole or something? Of course, I wasn't. And, she never complained. Well, that's not true. Our wedding night was a rough one for her. We fucked five times. She never told me to stop or anything, but she was just kind of a rag doll on the last three. The next day, she was awfully sore—stayed in bed all day.

But, I cared for her. I made her soup and crackers. I brought her ice. Gave her a long back rub.

How embarrassing, then, to realize that I actually sucked at fucking my wife? How sickening that I was somehow hurting her every time? How maddening that she never said anything about it until now? Come on, Ess! What the fuck? You gotta say something.

I guess she had, finally.

It was that book, that fucking book, that did this to her, changed her.

I walked past the Longwood T-stop, two minutes from the door to our apartment. Fuck it. I jumped back on the T and made my way back to Harvard Square. I went into the Coop bookstore, and I found another copy of Esther's book. It took me a while because I didn't see it in the Self-Help section. A worker helped me find it in the Religion section.

Now, I could have, very easily, went back home, snatched the book off Esther's nightstand and taken a look there. Problem was, I was too pissed to even look at her.

I wandered around until I found an empty chair, and I sat down and started reading the book.

Yeah, I know: I was reading a book.

I remained in the Coop for more than four hours that day, reading. My eyes were actually sore. It was a workout for them.

But, I was glad I did it. I began to see how this little book might have rocked Esther's world.

One thing that surprised me was how the author took pains to talk about many of the really good things that Jehovah's Witnesses do and have done. There were a ton. These were kind of amazing people.

But, man, was the leadership screwed up.

The most powerful stuff came from the interviews and stories of ex-members, even ex-leaders. This was about conformity and mind-control. It was so un-American. The Watchtower was a bunch of passive-aggressive Nazis in their attitude towards dissent.

There were stories of sex abuse that made me want to puke. Women were like second-class citizens, at best, and sometimes, more like slaves. When I finally shoved the book back in the shelf, I was ready to go home.

Fuck. I knew what I had to do. I didn't really want to, but I knew I should.

I picked up a card and a box of chocolate-covered almonds—her favorite—and took the T back home.

On the way, I borrowed a pen from a guy and wrote a note on the card. I hated every word that I wrote.

Esther,

I'm sorry if I hurt you. Anything you need, just tell me and we can work it out. I love you and never, ever want you to feel like a servant. You're my princess. I'll try to do better.

Then, I put a P.S. at the bottom, telling her that I went to the bookstore and read her book to page 89.

I know. It took me four fucking hours to read 89 pages.

***

I walked into the apartment to find Esther and Star in deep conversation around the kitchen table. Their heads were maybe a foot apart. Star's hand was gently rubbing Esther's back, and both of them looked tearful when they glanced over at me. Esther's eyes looked deeply sad and forlorn. Star's seemed tender and sympathetic.

I needed to be a fucking pussy, so I said, "Hey, I don't mean to interrupt. You two need me to go?"

Star glanced at Esther; Esther shook her head.

I walked to her and said, "Got something for you." I laid the chocolates and the card in front of her and stepped back.

Star's hand went to her heart, and she looked at me proudly. This was, I reminded myself, the same girl who farted on my balls the previous evening.

I said, "Excuse me," and left for the bathroom. I don't want to hang around there like some dickface, waiting for applause or some shit.

When I came out, Esther was at the threshold of our bedroom. She gave me a tentative smile, standing at the threshold of our bedroom. I went to her.

I closed the door behind us, and she turned to me. "You read my book? Some of it?"

I nodded. "I didn't know, Ess. I didn't understand. I think I do now, though, a little bit."

She stepped to me and hugged me, crying again. Then, she pulled back, and wiping her eyes, said, "I shouldn't have said some of the things I said last night. I'm sorry, too."

I nodded and extended my hand to her. She took it. I said, "You're still my girl?"

That was not the thing to say. She let go of my hand. "You don't own me."

"That's not what I meant. Come on." I glanced down at her chest, and I could see the hint of her nipples. "Whatever you need, Ess. Anything."

"I just need time to think."

"Well, if you need to think out loud, I'm here for you. You can talk to me." I said these things, knowing it was the right thing to do, but I hated myself for it. It felt weak to me. I felt like I should have ripped her ass for saying I'd enslaved her. Bullshit, bitch.

But, damn it, Esther was so freaking fragile. I couldn't make her feel even worse.

She was wearing a plain white tee-shirt, and I was staring at her tits. I wondered, like I had a thousand times before, if I could fuck them—if they'd be big enough to grip my dick. Maybe, I decided.

She'd been silent for a few seconds, and I looked up at her face. It looked like she'd been watching me stare at her boobs.

She said, "Do you care if I go out and get some air?"

I shook my head, glancing down at her tits, again. If she held them towards the sloping end—nearer the nipple—I bet I could fuck them. "Want to be alone?" I asked.

She nodded. "I just need time to think, okay?"

I looked at her bare neck, and I wondered what it might look like with a pool of cum on it. Maybe a little on her face, too. What would she say, I wondered, if I told her to wrap her tits around my dick? I guess I had no idea. Not anymore. She was like someone else now. But, I liked her sloping tits.

I looked up at her and said, "Okay."

"Thanks for understanding, sweets."

I actually didn't like it when she called me "sweets." I fucking hated it. I'd have rather she called me "Fuckhead." Thanks for understanding, Fuckhead.

Of course, I'd never tell her to stop. She liked it. It was her a little thing, and it made her happy to have a pet name for me. I took it.

I went out to watch tv on the couch. Esther changed her clothes and left.

Star came out of her room after the door closed. She walked right beside me and dragged a fingernail across my forehead.

"Hey!" I complained, sitting up and staring at her.

She sat on her chair, looking at me through her phone. Star used her fingers to zoom in a little.

"Star, what the fuck?" I felt something on my head.

She took a picture.

I felt my forehead, and something stuck to my finger. I brought my hand down and looked.

It was a booger. She'd wiped a booger on my forehead.

"Shit!" I shrieked, frantically shaking the fucker off my hand.

Star was laughing hysterically.

The thing finally came off, and I stood up, menacingly, fists ready.

She laid back in her chair and curled her legs up, feet ready. She was going to fend me off with kicks. Still holding the camera, she giggled, "You've got to see this picture."

She looked so stupid curled up like that, but damn, she had spirit. I relented and sat down, chuckling, "You're fucking disgusting. I'm going to shit in your bed."

Without a second's delay, she responded, "Then, I'm going to stuff it in your wallet."

The image of her doing just that made me lose it. She would have done it, too. Star had no limits.

She rocked forward in her chair and stretched her camera to me. I took it and looked, and I started laughing even harder.

My face was the whole screen, and there on my forehead—clearly—was a booger. It could not have been mistaken for anything else. This was a picture of a guy, looking irritated, with a giant grayish-green booger on his forehead. It was a picture of a douchebag.

I was holding my stomach and whooping with laughter. I was cackling so hard it hurt.

I feel bad for people who don't have a sister like mine.

When the laughter died down, I said, "Alright, tell me what the fuck you did that for."

"Because," she said, "you're a booger-head."

"But, why?"

She got serious. "I was talking to Esther—I love her, by the way—and we kind of starting talking about sex, and she told me how she felt."
Son of a bitch. "My wife is talking to you about our sex life? That's what your little head-to-head was at the table when I came in?"

She nodded. "And you're a booger-head."

"Why?"

"Because your job is to make her happy, and you're not doing it."

"You don't know shit. Why would she talk to you about it?"

"She needed someone, and she knew I would listen and help."

"And I wouldn't? Besides, she doesn't ever talk about sex, Star."

"Well, I don't know about before, but she does now."

I shook my head, pissed. "And it's all a big secret, I suppose, right? You girls have your sex secrets?"

"No. She even told me I could talk to you."

"What? So you're Doctor fucking Phil, now? Fuck that. I'll talk to Esther about it, myself."

"Talk to me first. I can help you both. I want to help."

"Alright, what? What do you want to know?"

"How do you do it? What do you do before you put it inside her?"

I shook my head. "We kiss. I feel her body. I take off our clothes. We kiss some more. I feel her tits, sometimes suck on them a little. Then, I feel her pussy, and if it feels ready, then I get between her legs. She spreads them wide, and we fuck."

"Is she wet when you put it in?"

"Of course she is, Star."

"Just asking," she responded. "I know you guys don't do oral, but do you finger her or anything?"

"I...she is against that—her religion. She doesn't want to be fingered. I can only, like, feel or finger her to see if she's ready. That's one of the rules."

"And she doesn't do it to you?"

"No. I mean, she's grabbed it, but more to like, line me up properly, you know?"

"Geez."

"Star!"

"Okay, okay, is she really wet when you put it in?"

"I don't know. Yes? She isn't dry."

"You stuck your fingers up inside her, though?"

"One."

"Just one? Why?"

"It didn't seem like two would fit, I guess."

"But, then you stuck your cock in her?" she asked, shocked, like I was a fucking idiot.

When she asked that question, I actually did feel like a fucking idiot.

She shook her head at me, and then asked, "How wet is she? On your finger?"

"I don't know."

"That's a question mark, then."

"Star, I just...you know I've got no basis for comparison here, right?"

"Poor little bro," she said, smiling sadly.

"Shut the fuck up."

"What does she do when you put your dick inside her? Does it look like it hurts her?"

"She moans."

"In pain?"

"I didn't think so, but I don't know anymore."

Star asked, "Does she make a lot of noise?"

"Yes."

"The whole time or just at the end?"

"The whole time."

"Is she in pain?"

"I don't fucking know anymore, Star!"

"Okay. Alright. Calm down."

"Yesterday, I would have said no."

Star rolled her fingers in a circle—come on, come on. "What does she sound like?"

I thought about it. "I don't know. She howls, I guess."

Star waited for more.

"Like a wolf at the moon or something," I finished.

Star raised an eyebrow and said, "You mean she sounds like this?" Then, Star howled like a wolf—a long, lonely cry. It was a pretty accurate rendition. And it was ridiculous. No human had ever made that sound during sex. I immediately started laughing.

"No, okay. Not like a wolf at the moon."

Star, laughing, too, said, "Well, you're the dumbass that said it. So, how does she actually sound?"

"Like a wolf, but in shorter bursts." I made little "A-ooh" sounds.

Star raised her hand to stop me. "Are you sure she's not saying, 'Ow! Ow!' dumbass?"

Fuck, was she? I'd never thought of it that way before. I started rubbing my forehead and eyes with my fingers, and I said, humbly, "I don't know."

Star sighed. "Well, there's another question mark."

"But she gets louder," I said, making little mountains in the air with my hand. "It builds up and then comes down after, like we both hit our peak and then it ends."

"She's coming?"

"Yes. She's noisy."

"Have you ever asked her if she came?"

"We don't talk about sex. We have sex." When Star gave me a look, I argued, "Star, I've seen pornos. The girls are noisy. Ess does what they do, basically."

"Your idea of how women cum is from watching porn?"

I looked off towards a window and sighed, impatiently. "I don't have any other basis for comparison."

"Maybe that's another question mark."

I probably looked like I was really pissed off at that moment. I was thinking about Esther and I never talking about sex. I was thinking about my total lack of experience. I was wondering how I ever got in this position—getting cross-examined on my sex life by my older sister. And I was also realizing that, damn it, Star was making me see things differently. Maybe I was really hurting my wife.

I glanced up at Star, and her look had compassion in it, like she felt for me.

It helped, but not much.

She said, "Can I ask you a few more questions?"

"Go ahead."

"Would you say she's small down there? Tight?"

I shook my head at Star, trying to remind her that I just didn't know. Esther's pussy was the only one I knew. How the fuck could I tell? "Star, I just...her pussy feels tight and good. Don't they all?"

"You said you've seen pornos," she responded. "Is Esther's like theirs, size-wise?"

"Of course not. Esther's no whore."

Star burst out in laughter. "Oh, brother mine, you think a pussy is like an old catcher's mitt or something? No! It's elastic. It stretches out, but it always stretches back. It may change a little, but not anything like what you're thinking."

"Okay, I'll take your word for it."

She looked right at me for a second, and then her eyes went to the ground. Star looked like she was thinking hard about something. Suddenly, she stood up. "Come on," she sighed, walking toward her bedroom door.

I got up.

She stood in the doorway. "Come on, dumbass!"

I followed her.

She closed the door behind me and then sat me on the end of the bed. Standing in front of me, she slid down her pants.

"Uh. What the hell..." I began.

"We're not getting anywhere because your stupid ass never got laid and never took the time to learn how women really work."

She pulled down her underwear. This was the third time in less than 24 hours I'd seen my sister strip in front of me.

I raised my hand: stop. "Star, you'd better not be about to pull one of your stupid little jokes, right now."

"I'm not. Feel it," she said, looking down at her pussy.

I stared at it, and then at her.

She said, "Look, I know you like my body. Most guys do. It's okay. You're my brother, not my girlfriend. This will be like going to the doctor for me. I'm sure you can handle this, so just do it. You need a comparison. I need to know what Esther's is like if I'm going to help you."

She moved closer and put her hands on my shoulders. I reached between her legs, felt the heat, and touched her pussy. I ran my index finger over the labia, tracing the outline. I slid it between, crossing her clit and just dipping inside her opening. She was wet. I looked up at her.

She said, "I get a little wet talking about sex. It's no big deal. This is like my version of a boner. My body responds. That's all."

I traced it again, a little more firmly this time, and then pushed inside her to the first knuckle.

"Well?" she asked.

My voice was hoarse and airy. "You're wetter than Esther."

"That answers one question because I'm not all that wet right now."

I looked up at her, stunned.

She shook her head. "I'm not." Then, she asked, "What about size?"

I swallowed. "Could you let me see it better?"

Star let go of my shoulders, stepped around me, and laid on the bed beside me, knees up, and legs spread. I turned around and knelt on the floor between her legs, looking. Staring, really.

My voice still wasn't right. "I can't really tell."

Star's head propped up, and she said, "What?"

"I haven't had many opportunities to get this kind of view of her, Star. I mean, it looks about the same size as hers, I guess. Are you small?"

"Smaller."

"Maybe hers is a little smaller than yours."

"Put your finger all the way in."

I hesitated.

"Just do it. Doctor's office, okay?"

I nodded. I slid my hand forward on the bed between her legs, and I spread her lips with my fingers, pushing my middle finger inside her. Shit! I looked at Star. "You're not all that wet right now?"

She said, "I'm getting wetter, okay?" After a few seconds, she added, "I'm actually getting really wet now."

I pushed my finger all the way in. Her pussy hugged it, and all I could think about was what it might feel like on my cock. I drew back and pushed in again. Holy shit.

Star pushed herself up to sitting, and I withdrew my finger.

"Well?" she asked, and her voice sounded a little funny, too.

"Esther's is tighter than yours."

"Really?"

I nodded.

"Okay, I guess that answers another question."

She stood up and I did too, pulling my shirt over my erection. Star glanced at it. Then, she went over and put on her panties and shorts, bending her tight little body in half. There was that ass again. I wished I could fuck Esther from behind.

Star turned to me and said. "To really make sure, I probably need to see yours again."

I looked at her. Was this one of her tricks? I'd forgotten what living with her was like, and now that I'd been burned a few times, I wasn't about to let my guard down.

"Come on, let's get this over with," she said.

"You're not fucking with me?"

"No."

I lifted my shirt and pulled my jeans down over one of the hardest boners I'd ever had. Star walked over and knelt in front of me, and my cock began to flex.

She looked up at me and said, "Stop that." Her face was a foot from my cock.

"I can't."

She began to reach for it, and I backed away, gasping. "Star, I can't. You...I haven't fucked Esther in three weeks. This fucking thing is ready to explode. You touch it, and it's going to go off. You breathe on it funny or, shit, even seeing you stare at it might send me over the top, okay?"

"Really?"

"Really."

She sighed. "Go jerk off in my bathroom. Get it out. Go."

"No, I'm not doing that."

"Why?"

"I don't jerk off," I said, flatly.

"What? Why not?"

"I'm married."

Still on her knees, she stared up at me like I was ridiculous. "What, you think you're cheating on Esther with yourself?"

"No, not..."

"Cheating on her with your hand?"

"Star! No, that's not what I mean. Why the fuck are always twisting around my...?"

"Well, then what the hell do you mean?"

I stared at her for a beat. "As a married man, I have a wife to take care of my needs." When she gave me a look, I clarified, "Take care of each other's needs, okay? Better? Bottom line, I shouldn't have to jerk off ever again for the rest of my life."

"But, what about when you're apart?"

"I'm not a nymphomaniac, Star. I can handle a few days."

"No, I mean, what if she's gone for three months to take care of a sick relative or something?"

"That doesn't count. I might do it, then."

"But you won't do it now?"

"No."

"Doesn't it feel good?"

"Of course, it does."

"Well, what's your problem then, idiot?" she asked, her voice rising.

"It looks stupid."

"You're not doing it in public!"

"No...I feel stupid. I think about how I look."

"Nobody is looking!"

"Star!" I yelled. "Fuckin-a, you can be a stupid bitch. Look, I've seen pornos, and they always do it. The guys, I mean. They always jerk off at the end and cum on the girl's face or her tits or whatever. Or, they do it before they stick it in her, and they look like fucking idiots. A guy, stroking his own dick, looks like a douchebag."

"I agree that it isn't the sexiest thing in the world, but..."

"See? That's why. I don't want to feel like I look like a douchebag."

"Even though nobody is looking? I won't look."

"Yes. Even when I know no one is looking. I see it, myself, you know? I picture myself, and I look like a fucking douchebag, so I don't unless I absolutely have to."

She shook her head. "Fuck, you're stubborn, you know that?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

She said, "And this isn't some stupid-ass trick of yours to get me to do it for you?"

I smirked at her. "Fuck, no."

She stood up. "Come on, then."

"Where are we going?"

"To the bathroom, so I can get a look at you and not have cum all over my bedroom floor."

I pulled up my jeans. "No way. This is a trap. You're going to do something. I know you."

"I'm not. Come on."

I waited. "Swear it, Star."

"You really think that I would..."

I fixed my eyes on her, and she quit talking. Very slowly, and with a long pause between each word, I said, "Swear it."

When you're as close as Star and I once were, a look in the eyes, a tone of voice, any one of those little bits of communication can carry deeper, more significant messages. I just sent one to her, and she heard me. My message was a reminder of an event, six years ago, where I had shown her great loyalty.

Her face took on a look of utmost gravity, and she calmly said, "I swear."

We went into the bathroom together.

She stood beside me and said, "I'm just going to look at it and get a sense of it. I may touch it. If you feel like something is going to happen, just aim for the toilet." She bent over and lifted the fluffy pink toilet seat. "There," she said.

Right. I guess if you're a girl, you can have a fuzzy ring around your toilet seat. You're never going to accidentally piss on it like a guy would.

"Okay," she said, "Let's see."

I took off my shirt and lowered my jeans. My cock jutted out from me, angled up.

Star's eyes narrowed, and she took in my hard-on from a few vantage points before squatting. She held my hips and turned me towards her.

"So?" I said, quietly.

"Hang on," she said, and her fingers lightly grasped the head and pivoted it around.

I took in a sharp breath and looked up at the ceiling.

"Is this normal?" she asked. "Are you usually this...ready?"

"It's normal."

She whispered, "Definitely not normal." It was so quiet that I almost didn't hear her. She wrapped her hand around it, and I dropped about three curses.

She said, "Easy, big fella."

I gulped. "So?" I asked again, and I didn't recognize my own voice.

"It's what I saw last night and what I thought I felt at the club."

Her grip tightened, but held still. I was breathing slowly and heavily.

She continued, "I've got to say that, if Esther is smaller than me, and she's not wet enough, then this would not feel good at all going in." She looked up and me, and I looked down at her.

I nodded. "Okay."

Her attention returned to my cock, casually inspecting it. "I haven't felt one of these in a long time," she muttered to herself, and she let out a small burst of laughter.

She very, very slowly pulled the skin up the shaft and let it back. I covered my mouth and held my breath.

"You forget," she went on, "how cool it is to just have total control of a guy's pleasure. It's really sexy, actually." Her voice was soothing.

She stroked me again; her grip was strong, and the movement, achingly slow. After she let the skin slide back, she released it.

I thought it was over, but she turned my hips toward the sink and drew me to the basin. The tops of my thighs pressed against the front edge of the counter.

She stood up, saying, "That thing won't bend down and point into the toilet. The sink is better."

She maneuvered behind me, close, her body against mine. I looked ahead in the mirror and saw Star lean out from behind my left side, reach around my back with her right hand, and take my cock in her fingers. She watched herself stroke me in the mirror.

I felt one of her nipples through her shirt on my lower back. I saw the other one poking against the fabric on her chest where she was leaning out from behind me, gazing at my cock in the mirror.

Her other hand was on my left hip. It curled around and began to explore the muscles of my tummy.

My balls tingled and grew warm. The sensation swept from there through my body, and when it hit my brain, I almost felt dizzy.

"Star," I huffed, "Oh, shit, that's good. Oh, shit."

"Let it out," she said, stroking more rapidly. "Cum for me."

I watched my cock throb in her little, sleek fingers. In the mirror, Star's eyes were fixed on the tip of my cock. Her mouth gaped. Her left hand clutched my belly.

Blood filled my muscles and they all flexed together when the first burst sailed out. It hit the back of the sink. The rest streamed out, less like it was pulsing and more like a continuous flow. It happened like that when I was backed up. It was like I was pissing cum. The flow leaped out about six or so inches from the tip and plummeted down towards the drain. This lasted a few seconds before the last few globs seeped out of the tip and dripped down.

All of that energy-filled blood seemed to race out of me, and I gasped for my breath as Star let me go.

Her face looked flushed, and she was breathing deeply. We looked at each other in the mirror, and she gave just the tiniest hint of a smile. It disappeared as quickly as it came. "Better?" she asked, almost formally.

I nodded.

She edged me aside and began splashing water on the drips and pools of cum to get it to move towards the drain. I watched her use her fingers on a few places to break the fluid's grip on the porcelain. Soon, the sink was clean, and Star washed her hands.

I pulled up my jeans and then found my shirt and put it on.

Star turned to me. "I'm going to talk to Esther when she gets back. Tell her what I think."

"Okay."

"I'd like to see her vagina, though."

I might have laughed, but Star was serious. "Ess would never, in a million years, show you her pussy."

"Sure she will. I'm only trying to help."

"Star, Esther loves you. No shit. I mean, after what happened with her church, you're really the only family she's got anymore besides me. But, still, she's not going to let you check out her stuff."

"The lesbian thing?" Star asked.

"Yes. She loves you, but she doesn't agree with that lifestyle. She's been taught that since she first learned about sex."

"I think she trusts me, and I know I can help. It isn't sexual."

I said, "Okay, say she does let you. You're not going to derive any pleasure from checking her out down there?"

She shrugged. "If Star wasn't your wife, I'd be after her. No shit. But, she is, so I won't. Doctor's office."

I eyed her suspiciously.

She said, "Fine. Watch us, then."

I stared at her.

"I'm serious," she said, "Hide out and...and supervise me if you're so worried."

"Star, I trust you. I know you're trying to help. But, I also think you kind of want this. Don't tell me you're not going to enjoy it a little."

"Then watch us and see for yourself, brother mine."

"Where?"

"My room. Here."

I hesitated.

She argued, "You're not going to get caught. You watch and make sure I don't get swept away by my lesbian passions." She said this, and it was dripping with sarcasm. "When it's all over, I'll cover for you. You'll leave and come back. She won't know any better."

"She's never going to let you do it, but okay, I will," I said.

"Good. When she gets back, I'll tell her that you went to a movie."

An hour later, I was back in Star's bathroom, goofing around on my phone and waiting for Esther's return. Any evidence that suggested I was still home—keys, wallet, etc.—I gathered up and kept with me.

Then, Esther returned. I went to Star's bedroom door and listened.

Esther and Star greeted one another, and Star explained my absence. Then, she said, "I was just about to pour myself a glass of wine. Would you like some?"

Esther said, "Oh, no, I don't drink."

Star, I thought, you dumbass. Didn't you know Witnesses don't drink?
"I usually don't either, but a friend of mine told me about this wine, and I love it. It tastes good, and I just feel so relaxed when I have a glass. Are you sure?"

I didn't hear a response, but I already knew: Esther was shaking her head, no.

"Could I just try a sip?" I heard my wife respond.

What the hell?

"Sure, here." I heard Star pull a glass out of a cabinet. A few seconds later, Star said, "Wait, you should have a little cheese before."

"Why?"

"Gets your tastebuds ready for the grapes."

The fridge and a drawer opened and closed. I peeked through the crack in the door. Star was in the kitchen. Esther was across the counter from her, on a barstool. Star handed a chunk of pale yellow cheese to Esther and took one, herself. They ate.

"Good?"

"Yeah, what kind is it?"

Star said, "Aged gouda. Smells funny, but it's good."

"I like it."

Star handed Esther a glass of red wine with just a sip in the bottom. Star raised hers and said, "To trying something new."

Esther said, "To trying something new." Then my wife took a drink of wine.

"What do you think?" Star asked.

"Oh, that's very good!" Esther said, and her enthusiasm was genuine.

"More?"

"Okay."

Star poured Esther a full glass, and then cut several chunks of cheese. Then, she fetched a box of crackers, pulled out a stack and laid them on the cutting board between her and Star.

Esther said, "You know what we were talking about the other day? About my old church?"

"Yes?"

"I was thinking that today for, like, the first time that I don't miss it. I mean, I actually feel like I might be a normal person."

"You are normal!" Star protested.

Esther shook her head. "We didn't know each other in high school, but I was the weirdo church-girl. The other kids avoided me like I was a leper. Your brother, well—you already know—he was the first boy who ever treated me like a human being, made me laugh like I was a friend."

Here, Esther started crying, and, fuck me, Star did, too. Neither of them were balling, just wiping their eyes and sniffing. "Anyways, nobody else liked me, even after I became his girlfriend. It got worse, actually, instead of being ignored, I was hated by the other girls."

"I'm so sorry, Esther."

Esther nodded, "Thank you." She took a sip and said, "But, my point is that for the first time I feel like I don't have to be the weirdo church-freak, you know? I'm just a regular girl, out on the town, and it...it makes me so happy." She covered her mouth.

Star walked around the counter and gave Esther a hug.

Esther said, "And I'm sad because all those years of shame and embarrassment, I can't get back. And I'm excited because I can have a new life, and it makes me want to cry..."

Here, Esther broke up the hug and Star pulled away. Esther looked at Star's face and said, "But, Star, you're not supposed to be crying, too!"

Star laughed, and then Esther did, too. They hugged again, and Star said, "I'm happy for you, that's all."

Esther said, "You're so good to me, Star. Thank you."

Star walked back around the counter and said, "I need more wine." They both laughed again, and Star topped off both of their glasses.

They each took a sip, and there was almost an uncomfortable silence before Star said, "I talked to my brother about...you know."

Esther put down her glass, "Does he hate me?"

Star smiled, "No, he loves you."

Not true. I didn't. I just wanted Esther to be happy.

Esther said, "Did he talk about it with you? Sex?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm. I think these issues are all solvable, Esther. I really do."

"Tell me."

Star took another sip, and Esther followed. Star said, "From what he described, I wondered about...about how your parts fit together. So, I had him show me his penis."

I froze. Esther did, too.

Star hastily added, "He didn't want to. But, he knew I only wanted to help you, so he did."

"He did?" Esther asked, her voice full of wonder.

Star nodded. "He's not normal, Esther. I can totally see how it might be very painful."

Esther nodded, "I thought his might be...be different." She raised her glass and paused. "He was...was he erect?"

"I asked him to make himself hard."

"Oh. That...that must have been very uncomfortable for you."

Star waved this off. "It was like I was his doctor."

Esther nodded and then had her sip.

"I asked him about you, and he thought you might be small," Star continued.

"I think I am."

"And, since neither of you are really experienced, and it's not been easy for you to have conversations about sex..."

"It's my fault," Esther said. "The way I was taught was to just submit to your husband. It was not a subject for conversation, so I never wanted to talk about it."

"It's not all your fault, Esther. My brother knows he could have done a better job of reading your sexual signals and understanding how you feel."

"Reading sexual signals?"

Star nodded, "It's what experienced lovers do."

Esther was looking at Star, and it felt like there was something like envy in her face.

Star went on, "So, he's thinking your body is ready for him when it isn't. He's thinking that his penis is normal when it isn't. He's thinking that you're enjoying it, but you're not."

Esther nodded, still watching Star's every gesture, hanging on her every word.

"I've got some ideas, but there's still something I don't know, and I need to find out."

"What?"

"Don't be mad?"

Esther smiled. "Of course I won't be."

Star took another sip, cleared her throat, and said, "I'd like to see your vagina, Esther, so I can know for sure how the two of you fit together. I've seen his, but he's only told me about yours. I think I need to see it. Will you show it to me?"

"Do you think I should?"

Star nodded. "I just want to help you two. I love you both so much."

Esther didn't say a word.

Star added, "This isn't about me being a lesbian, Star. I'm not trying to..."

"Here? Show you here?" Esther asked, interrupting Star's pledges.

"You will?"

Esther nodded.

"Not...not here. Let's go to my room. It won't take long."

Both of them drained their glasses. When Esther rose from her chair, she stopped. "Oh!" she said, "Is this what wine does to you?"

Star giggled, and then Esther did, too. They turned towards Star's bedroom, and I backed away and crept into her bathroom, leaving the door cracked open.

They walked in and Star shut the door behind Esther. Esther walked to the center of the room and turned around, waiting.

Star smiled. "Don't be nervous. This is going to help, remember?"

Esther nodded.

Star walked over to her, and they looked at each other. Star said, "Here, let me show you all I want to see." She backed up to the bed and pulled down her pants and panties. She sat on the bed and raised one of her feet up, placing it beside her, knee bent. "Come here."

Star looked down at her own pussy.

Esther walked over in front of her, blocking my view. "You shave it?"

"Yes, I don't like all the hair."

"How often do you have to do it?"

"Whenever I shave my legs."

"Oh," Esther said, quietly.

Star said, "Anyways, here look. I just want to see how big you are this way, and between...here. And then, if you're okay with it, I just want to put a finger in you...see...like this...and feel how tight you are, because if it's like what my brother described, I may have some ideas. Is that okay?"

This is going to happen, I thought, stunned. Esther is actually going to do this.

She said, "Okay."

Star stood up and Esther unzipped her skirt, wiggled her hips, and slid it down to the floor. Then, she pulled down her white panties and stepped out of them. She sat on the bed and looked up at Star. Star had not put her own clothes back on. I watched the thrilling curves of her ass as she knelt between my wife's legs. Star knew where I was, and she was careful to preserve my view.

Esther's pussy had a small patch of yellow hair near the base, nothing more. She might have had long hair, but she was not naturally hairy.

"Yeah, you're pretty small," Star said.

Esther looked up.

"But that's good, Esther. Once everything is comfortable for you, it will be very, very nice for him."

Star reached between Esther's legs and spread her apart with her index and middle fingers. Star craned her neck forward and looked inside. Her face was about a foot away from Esther's wide open pussy.

It was at that moment—the moment my sister's fingers parted the lips of my wife's pussy—that I lost myself in their actions. It became, for me, like an amazing movie, one where I forget I'm in a theater. I felt paralyzed by what I saw. My cock remained painfully hard, and I watched in awe.

"Did you have any experience with boys before you decided...you know?" Esther asked.

Star looked up at her. "That I wanted to be with girls? Some."

"What made you know for sure that you liked girls?"

"Oh, there were some things that just...happened. I don't know. Long story. Esther, are you usually this wet when you're with my brother?"

Esther shook her head from side to side. "No."

"May I put my finger inside you?"

Esther nodded.

Star curled all of her fingers together, except the middle. Very gently, she pushed it inside Esther.

My wife drew in a deep breath.

"Am I hurting you?" Star asked.

Esther shook her head.

"It feels okay?"

She nodded.

Star said, "My brother is so lucky to have you, Esther. You're one of the kindest and most beautiful women I've ever met."

Esther huffed a tiny burst of laughter. "You probably never even knew I existed in high school, but I always thought that you were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. Every boy in the school was in love with you. Every girl wanted to be you. After we got married, I was so intimidated that I was afraid to even talk to you."

"I hope I was never unkind."

"No, the more I came to know you, the more I realized how sweet you are."

"I've always felt the same way about you."

Esther said, "Do you like it? Being just with girls?"

Star's finger remained inside Esther. I saw her rotate her wrist, and the tip of Star's her finger must have spun inside Esther. Finally, Star said, "It might surprise you to hear that I've been starting to think—for a while, now—that maybe I miss boys, that I may not be a true lesbian, even though I very much like girls."

Star's finger slowly drew back, and then pushed in even more gradually.

Star continued, "Seeing you and my brother together, and I know these haven't been the happiest of times between you, but it reminds me of a different kind of companionship that I've been missing."

Esther just continued to gaze at Star.

"Boys sometimes are so simple that they're complex, and girls are the opposite—so complex that they're often simple."

Esther almost silently gasped. She muttered, "What do you mean?"

Star repeated the action with her fingers. She explained, "Boys are simple in that you just kind of need to rub them the right way with your body for them to feel pleasure, but they're not easy to communicate with, so everything gets much more difficult. With girls, we have so many places on our bodies where we can feel pleasure that we seem complex, but all we really need is to feel sexy and beautiful, so we're simple."

Esther watched Star's finger twist and slide in and out of her. When they spoke again, neither of their voices were the same.

Star asked, "Have you had an orgasm?"

"I don't know."

Star looked up at her. "May I try to give you one? Just so you know?"

Esther nodded.

"Lay back."

Esther let her body fall back on the mattress, her feet remained on the floor. Star crawled closer, and her face was now inches from Star's pussy. Star inserted a second finger, and she continued to gently and very smoothly fuck Esther's pussy with a twisting motion.

Esther gasped. I watched her tits rise and fall, but I paid more attention to Star's ass. Fuck, it was gorgeous. I would have given anything to step through the bathroom door and fuck her from behind.

Esther began to moan, and a few moments later, my sister stopped.

"Esther, would it be okay if I used my tongue?"

She hummed and nodded. My mouth fell open. My sister was about to give my wife—my Esther—oral sex, and I'd never once been allowed to do it with her before.

That book. That fucking book.

I didn't really know who my wife was anymore.

Star moved in. She spread Esther with her hands, and when her tongue delicately swept up and down over Esther's exposed clitoris, Esther's head rose up off the bed. Her chest lurched, and she burst out with a loud "Mmm!" I might have called Esther's expression one of loving concern the way the insides of her eyebrows tilted up, and the way her eyes gazed at my sister.

Esther hummed increasingly loudly, and it was so genuine that I knew I had been hurting her all along. This was Esther's sound, not the ones I had been hearing when I fucked her.

Star's right hand briefly drew back, and then swiftly plunged, two fingers forward, into Esther. Another loud hum rang out in the room, and it was followed by an "Oh!" Shortly, Esther began alternately humming and oh-ing as Star's pace increased. The room began echoing with my wife's orgasm—her first, I knew. My sister gave Esther her first.

Esther lifted her ass of the bed with her tippy toes, and Star clutched at Esther's hips to keep her pelvis tight against her mouth. Then, Esther was screaming and screaming. She rocked her pussy up and down on Star's tongue, clutching at her own head, like her brain was on fire. Then she froze, and her body shuddered and sank back onto the sheets.

And then Esther started laughing and screaming. She was utterly, completely jubilant.

Star sat back on her heels and watched. She was laughing, too, holding both of her hands over her heart.

Esther was still laughing when she breathlessly yelled, "No, I've never had an orgasm. Not until now, Star. Not until now." Then, she screamed again.

I watched Star's hand wipe tears from her eyes.

Esther sat up, and she and Star immediately hugged each other.

"Thank you!" Esther said, and she held Star's face with both hands and kissed her on the lips.

And, it dawned on me, then, that Esther had never, not once, kissed me after we had sex. I had never made her that joyful and grateful with my body.

The movie was over.

I was awake again, and blood churned through me.

Had this been Star's last, most ruthless prank? Her grand finale? Fucking my wife in front of me? Maybe stealing her from me? Taking her in ways I could only dream about?

I was intensely, ragingly jealous. The fury of the fucking pit of hell was boiling inside my guts. My body trembled with adrenaline. I was the embodiment of physical violence.

It felt good.

I am going to actually, really kill my sister, I decided, right here in this apartment.

*****

Author's Note: Thanks to shygirlwhore for editing and offering suggestions. And, thanks to readers for taking the time to check this out. I hope the build led to some rewards for your patience. More soon to follow. FS