Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 3

She jumped out of the car and halfway to the back door she yelled, "Get my bag."

He watched her climb the porch steps. "Sure, and I'll close your door, too."

In the kitchen, Evan dropped Deana's book bag by the back door, then stood behind his little sister-step sister. "Hey, Gloria," he said, and collected her blonde mane of hair, tugging down until he could look into her blue eyes. "Monkey brains. That's wrong."

"Which one?" Gloria said, scrunching her shoulders to fight off his hands. "That tickles."

He moved his chin down to her shoulder. "Number eleven. A is unknown, so the answer is D, not enough information."

"Math isn't my good subject," she said.

"Oh yeah," he said, "what is?"

"Art."

"Art ain't a subject."

"Is too!" She pointed to a pile of papers. "See."

"Wow!" he said, reaching for the top sheet. "What do you call this one?"

"I don't call it anything. It's free expression," she said. "I wanta be an artist"

"Really?" He wanted to be a race-car driver or a porn star but neither of those was likely to happen. 'If I were you, I'd sign it, frame it and name it, 'Monkey sex. People will buy it for big bucks"

"Pervert."

"Hey, stop spending so much time with Deana," he said. "I'm just tryin' to help. Where's mom?"

"I don't need help," Gloria said. "Mom's doing doctor junk. Don't bother her. She said so."

He heard Deana come out of the bathroom. "Let me know if you need more help with your math." He laughed while avoiding her elbow and headed for the bathroom.

Evan closed the bathroom door, ready for his regular afternoon relief. He hesitated, then opened the hamper anyway. Deana's red hearts underwear peeked out from under a shirt. He lifted them and turned to face the wall length mirror over the counter. If there were panties that didn't belong to his sister, he would have chosen those. Satisfied with his rationale, he lowered his zipper. The steel, vein bulging erection that sprang from his boxers was excessive in a breathtaking way. He squirted Deana's lotion on the bulbous cock head and let it spill down his long, hard shaft. He pressed the soil crotch to his nose and the scent of vaginal fluid erased the image of the girl who owned the underwear. "Fuck, oh, fuck," he moaned.

Mrs. Beck on her knees appeared behind his closed eyes. "Oh Evan, oh, Evan," she moaned. "Please give me your cum! Give me that hot teenage cum. Put it on my face. Get it all over my face, please." His hand pumped violently up and down the rigid, cock.

His balls rolled in their sack, then drew up, tight and ready to shoot, but he demanded they wait. Porn stars had to be able to cum on command. He kept stroking. The thick, purple knob snapped in and out of his fist. He opened his eyes and stared at his erection as it jerked and filled to capacity,

"Oh, yes!" He put Deana's underwear in front of the streams of cum and let the material soak up his orgasm. They're just underwear, any old underpants. Who cares?

Out in the hallway, Deana backed away from the bathroom door with that nagging sense of guilt she always got when she knew something that her brother wouldn't want her to know. It wasn't like she was spying on him, or watching, she just knew. Was that wrong?

She closed her bedroom door and blew-out a long breath. It was wrong, but not because she knew her brother was jerking off, it was how it made her feel that was the problem. Oh well, she thought, it's not going to send me to hell. All those other things she thought about, those were hell worthy offenses.

Later on, Evan kicked twice, then threw three punches at the heavy

bag. Why was he so frustrated?

It'd been six months since Stacey

moved to Michigan. Shouldn't he be over her already? She'd been his first real relationship, one with regular sex, that is. Had he actually loved her, or was it the sex, sex and more sex that he loved? He threw punch after punch until his heart pounded and blood roared in his ears.

"Hey, Karate Kid," Deana said.

He turned and saw his sister on the open staircase that led down to their finished basement. "What," he said.

"Don't be hostile," Deana said, and sat with her legs hanging over the edge of the staircase. "Mom said it's almost time for dinner. So bring your sweaty butt upstairs. She giggled. "I added that last part."

He watched her legs swing, wondering when they had gotten so long. "I'm going to take a quick shower."

In the bathroom, Evan stopped drying his head when he heard his dad calling his name. It was dinner time. He flattened his thick black hair and pulled gray sweatpants up is wet legs.

"Sorry," he said, when he reached the kitchen, "I thought I had more time." He sat to his father's right, on the long side of the table. It was a large table, like his father. Deana and Gloria were seated across from him and his mom, Candy was to his right, at the opposite end from his dad.

His father, dug his fork into a mountain of baked zitti and everyone else started eating. That was the rule, don't start until everyone was seated. Unofficially, not until their dad started. One day he might ask why they didn't say grace anymore.