Little Siblings Week was not the best time to pick up girls.
But Blue’s sister was smart and hot, and she knew I wanted her the second she met me. She was seventeen-years-old to my twenty-two but it may as well have been two decades. She was young and in high school, and she was Blue’s fucking sister.
And yet somehow the two of us ended up on a bench outside while Blue went back to the dorm to visit her boyfriend. Maybe it was trust or some other misplaced sentiment, but she left us alone and we instantly found a spot devoid of human life. It took us an entire three minutes to talk about how we probably shouldn’t make out. Correction, it took us three minutes for me to tell her we shouldn’t make out, and her to tell me not to be so fucking condescending. She could make her own choices and it was none of her sister’s business or anyone else’s for that matter. I managed to fight off her anger because I actually was being condescending. I knew better. I was older. I was moral. I was right and she was wrong.
And then she climbed onto my lap, looked me in the eyes and said with calculated honesty, “What I can I say? I ‘m just a sexually frustrated seventeen-year-old.”
That’s seriously what she said. It’s stuck with me for too long to be comfortable, but those were her words and I remember them. They were honest, they were desperate, and five minutes later she was lying on my bed with her shirt off as I kissed my way from her lips to her breasts. I was moaning as loudly as she was, and our knees were doing things to each other’s genitals that our mouths wanted to do. We kissed frantically, and I didn’t stop to worry how far it would go.
There was a pounding on the door minutes later, and instead of opening it wide with a grin I said, “um, hold on a minute” as we scrambled to pull our clothes back on. Blue was furious when I finally let her in, and I hid behind the goddamn door like a child. I wish I could change that memory, but I cowered, fled, and tried as hard as I could to disappear, letting all her anger fly right at her sister.
Not that she didn’t save some for me too. She yelled at us both, asking what the hell we were thinking, and she dragged the poor girl back to her room across the hall before slamming the door shut.
When I finally sat down again I felt at least two things: I was upset that I had to stop kissing a girl I suddenly wanted more than I thought possible, and also I was an asshole. The second part was more complicated than the first. I was an asshole for hiding, for kissing her in the first place, and the fact that I had made out with Blue a few weeks earlier counted for something as well. I was an asshole for being too old, for second guessing a girl who clearly knew what she wanted, and for letting her talk me into doing what I wanted.
Blue’s sister and I wrote letters after she returned home. They were funny and sweet, and we wrote them by hand on real paper. Blue didn’t talk to me again, other than a few nasty glares, and by the end of the year it was a story I told about that time I hooked up during Little Siblings Weekend.
Her name is still one of my favorites.
Guy New York
(If you enjoy my writing and would like to support the blog, you can buy my novel, or one of my dirty e-books on Amazon here.)