When Cassie was 18, she had an illicit affair with her stepbrother, Vince. It was something she was ashamed of, and in the 15 years that followed, she sought to repress her desire and longing for him. Vince was and remained forbidden fruit. Only, other men could never quite equal him, especially when it came to sex. Now, as an career-minded adult she ran into him in a hotel lobby, where she desperately tries tamp down a fresh desire for him. Plus, he has nickname for her: Squirt. Part of her wants to reenact the reason why he calls her that. The other part of her wants to keep safe distance.
Warning: this short story contains graphic and explicit depictions of sex and female ejaculation. It it is intended only for mature adults over the age of 18.
Vince led me to the bar, and we both took a seat on bar stools. “I’ll have a vodka sour,” he said to the bartender. Then, he turned to me. “You?”
“Just a Coke.”
“Oh, Cassie, where’s the fun in that? At least have a dash of rum in it?”
I thought of how I lost my virginity to him in high school. I thought about how I had dreamt of him all these years. “No,” I said. “Just a Coke with ice.”
“Aw,” he smiled. “You’re no fun.”
“That’s good to know.”
For a bit, we drank our drinks in silence. Finally, I had to ask. “So, you got married?”
“And divorced, too.”
I felt goosebumps and pleasant chills spread through me. It scared me, and I sought to ignore what my body obviously wanted. “What happened?”
“It’s, well,” he took a sip of his drink, “the usual story. Linda and her boss hooked up. She cheated on me for about a year before serving me papers. I wanted to fight her tooth and nail on all of our assets, but just to be rid of her forever, I agreed to an even split.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I said. “And I’m sorry if I’m going to sound like a bitch, Vince, but what did you do to her?”
He drank in silence. He glanced at me, repressing a smoldering look. “She claimed I never truly loved her.” He took another drink. “She claimed I never had any true passion for her.” He took a third sip. “I think she was right, though. Deep down, there’s only been one woman I’ve ever wanted to be with.”
My heart instantly soared at those words. My brain, however, wished it didn’t. Reason suggested plenty of things. He likely wasn’t talking about me. Even if he was, he was still my step brother, and that was reason enough why we could never be together. The emotional conflict in me gnawed at me, terribly. Even without drinking a drop of alcohol, I had this insane need to throw my arms around him – to drag him to my hotel room and have him reenact how I earned his nicknames of “Squirt.” In many ways, I felt doomed no matter what. I raised my Coke at the bartender. “Can you put some rum in this, please?”
About Dee DelaRocka
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Published December 25, 2011
Erotica, Literature & Fiction.