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  © 2015 Stephanie Brother

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

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  Stepbrother Confession

  by

  Stephanie Brother

  It was proving too much for me to handle alone. Last week my parents were helping me plan my wedding, this week I was planning their funeral. The process itself was stressful enough and not unlike the wedding planning: find a venue, find a minister, find a caterer, order flowers, but piled on top of everything else and I was about to have a break down.

  I wish Richard was here. He's so good at keeping his calm and getting everything organized. But Richard was at the capital again. He's so busy with his campaign program and trying to gain a footing at the next level I barely see him.

  And Erik...

  Well. Erik hasn't been home in years. When I tried calling the last phone number I had for him, I got a nice old lady who kept calling me "dearie" but insisted it had been her number for at least 2 years. Of course, I also had to sit politely through her explanation of how her oldest son had bought the cell phone for her and how she wasn't exactly sure how it worked.

  I sent a few emails to the last address I had listed for him when Mom and Dad were in the accident. I hadn't heard anything back. I don't know if he still uses that account or if he just doesn't check it often...or maybe it was just because of me.

  I looked through the pile of paperwork that had been sitting on Mom's desk by her computer. Bills waiting to be paid, a letter from Aunt Dorrie waiting for an old-fashioned reply with pen and paper that will never arrive now, bank statements, catalogs, ads from the local grocery store.

  I wish Mom was here. She'd know what to do. I wish Dad was here, he'd be completely useless, but he'd put his hand on my shoulder and give me the encouragement I needed to get through it. I wish anyone was here.

  I found them in a drawer of the computer desk, a short stack of postcards all from Erik. Most of them photos of far away places with one line messages about how much he loved Maine or how he couldn't find good Mexican food in Iowa.

  I breathed deeply. At least he'd been staying in touch with them, I thought. So that meant it really was just me. Something inside me fell at the realization.

  I'd been suspicious of it ever since he left but somehow, sitting there in Mom's little office slash sewing room, looking at the postcards he'd been sending them for the last six years, it really sunk in. It was all too real for me suddenly and a stabbing pain tore through my core as the tears broke loose.

  I hadn't done much crying in the few days since Mom and Dad were declared dead. Only 14 hours apart from eachother. I'd had just enough time to get used to the idea that Mom was gone, just enough time to build hope that Dad would pull through. And then I got the call from the hospital that Dad was gone too. I wasn't even able to get there in time to say good bye.

  Richard had said he'd come home if I needed him to but I knew he needed to stay, so I told him I could handle it myself. Now I wish I had asked him to come home.

  I started putting the contents of Mom's desk into boxes. What I was really looking for was the paperwork that she had showed me once that had all the instructions for her funeral on it. It was in a green folder somewhere. I knew she'd written it all down after Grandma passed. Mom had gone on a "I don't want my children to go through this" phase and made sure all her arrangements were taken care of.

  Fat lot of good it was doing me now. I had no idea where she had put her files. I also had no idea if she had included Dad's wishes.

  I smiled at my insistence on calling him "dad," it had always made him so proud that I chose to call him that. Gerald had married Mom just after I turned 13. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Part of me was glad they were together that day. I can't imagine either of them living long without the other. They were a true love story.

  Dark thoughts rolled through my mood like marauding storm clouds. Gerald had been the best thing that had happened to Mom and he had been the best dad I could hope for-- far outshining the asshole that donated his DNA to me-- if only Gerald hadn't had any children of his own already.

  I sat there, in Mom's chair, mindlessly flipping through the postcards from Erik.

  Erik.

  Mom had been seeing Gerald for several months before I met him and his son. When they decided they were serious enough to get us kids involved, Mom and I went to Gerald's house on a Friday night. We ordered take out pizza and watched movies and sat around talking.

  I liked Gerald immediately. I knew he was in love with Mom and I'd never seen Mom look so happy. They were so cute, holding hands when they thought I wasn't looking.

  I was barely 13 at that time, Erik was 15. He was laid back and easygoing. He was friendly to us and very likable, but he didn't hang out with us much that night. He came in and chatted for a bit, grabbed a 2 liter bottle of soda and 6 slices of pizza, made a joke to his dad about not staying out past curfew and disappeared out the back door.

  I was mesmerized. Erik was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. At that point, I wasn't even all that interested in boys, they were kinda stupid and tended to smell bad. But Erik.

  After pizza I watched maybe half the movie with Mom and Gerald and then I wandered out to the shop behind Gerald's house where I'd seen Erik go. I found him inside, up to his elbows in a motorcycle that was mostly scattered around him in small parts.

  That night I fell in love for the first time in my life.

  ***

  I looked down at the postcards in my hand, slowly running my thumb over the grain of the paper, smiling at my memories. Such sweet, innocent memories.

  The tears welled in my eyes again but this time not for the loss of my parents. For my own loss. For how stupid I'd been. For how badly I'd fucked everything up.

  It hadn't really occurred to me that when Mom and and Gerald got married it would mean that Erik was off limits. Somehow I immediately accepted Gerald as my father and even though I understood that made Erik my brother, it didn't count. He wasn't really my brother.

  When my friends found out that I had a crush on him, though, they were disgusted, "Ewww, your brother? Com'on, Kelsy! That is so gross!" I got the message loud and clear.

  Erik was my brother. No crushing allowed. So I pushed those feelings down deep and tried to go on with being a normal teenager.

  I had boyfriends through high school, but they never lasted very long. No one could measure up to the standard my brother had set for them.

  My step brother. I started insisting on making that distinction. It helped relieve some of the guilt I felt over my feelings which only intensified with the years of living with him.

  Erik went from the adorable, gawky grease monkey with the floppy hair in his eyes that I had met that night in Gerald's shop to a tall, finely muscled, young man.

  Erik and I shared a bond deeper than most step-siblings. Deeper than many actual siblings. He shared all his thoughts with me, his plans for the future. At times I thought he felt the same way as I did, a few times I even thought he might kiss me. But he would crack a joke or suddenly get up and walk away before anything happened.

  He had moved out with a couple of friend
s my senior year. He still had that same motorcycle, it was a 1986 Honda Nighthawk 450. I will always remember that because I helped him rebuild it from that junked heap of scrap metal that was lying in pieces around him that first night to the beautifully restored bike that was his pride and joy till the day he left.

  I never learned much about engines or cars or bikes in general, but to this day, I know that Honda and almost every bolt in it.

  At 21 years old, my brother-- my stepbrother-- was the poster child for the iconic beautiful brooding bad boy that every girl wants and every girl's father wants to run out of town: boots, jeans, leather jacket, wearing his long curls tied back in a simple pony tail, his dark eyes hiding tempting secrets while his lips flashed deceptively innocent looking smiles.

  Even now, my heart picked up its pace as the picture came into focus in my mind's eye.

  If the wide eyed child I'd been at 13 had fallen in love with Erik when he was a gawky 15 year old, the sexually awakening 18 year old me wanted the just turned 21 year old bad boy biker Erik in the worst way.

  Sitting there with the postcards in my hand, I felt myself blush. Part of me was amused at how foolish I'd been then. How simple I had thought the world was. It would all be just one of those silly things I could laugh off now, if it hadn't gone so terribly wrong. My heart fell again as I looked at the message on the postcard from Alaska printed in his thick, block handwriting, "Snowing in July. WTF? Tell everyone HI." No one ever told me "hi." In fact, finding these postcards was the first time I'd learned that he had stayed in touch with Mom and Dad at all since he left.

  It had been after my high school graduation. I'd gone to a big party with a bunch of people from my class. Someone had rented a hotel room and there were probably 60 people shoved into a suite at the local Holiday Inn. Dancing and drinking and making out, until the hotel shut it down and told everyone that wasn't on the guest list that they had to leave or the hotel was going to call the cops.

  Kids scurried out of that hotel like cock roaches. I had been doing shots of vodka and some knock off brand of energy drink that tasted more like cough syrup than it should have and I was feeling pretty good. I couldn't call Mom and Dad. They weren't stupid, but they didn't approve of underage drinking. I would get a hell of a lecture. Not to mention, it was barely even midnight! I was feeling good and wasn't ready for my party to end.

  So I called Erik. I knew he'd come get me, I knew he'd take me back to his place and we'd play video games and he'd probably even let met keep drinking.

  Erik came to get me in his roommate's truck. Which was a good thing because I was pretty drunk and probably wouldn't have been able to sit straight on the back of the bike. "NO puking!" He laughed as he helped me into the passenger side, "Brad will have a total shit fit if you throw up in his truck, so if you need me to pull over make sure you tell me!"

  I nodded my understanding and giggled as he pulled the seatbelt across my chest and buckled next to my hip. As the strap crossed my shoulder, his hand brushed my breast. I suddenly sobered significantly. I felt the bolt of electricity shooting through me where he'd touched me hardening my nipples against the tight fabric of the tank top I was wearing while a throbbing heat moved through my insides, dampening my panties as I thought how it would feel to have his hands on my skin.

  All the way back to his place he laughed and teased me about being drunk. His roommates weren't home, Brad worked nights. He usually got a ride with a co-worker so Erik would be able to use the truck if he needed it. Jason was on some sort of epic backpacking trip.

  Erik called Mom and Dad to let them know where I was so they wouldn't worry, then he asked if I wanted a drink.

  We sat on the living room floor, leaning against the couch, drinking vodka and cranberry juice. I was too drunk to handle the controls for his game system and I kept dying so he put in a movie that we ignored while we drank and talked.

  Everything about the memory of that night still brings a smile to my lips. Everything up to the point where it all went terribly wrong. I looked down at the postcards and my eyes went out of focus.

  I knew it was a bad idea when I did it, but I couldn't stop myself. We had been talking about my last boyfriend at the time and how he had broken up with me and told me I was ugly. Erik had looked me right in the eye and told me how beautiful I was and to never let another boy convince me otherwise.

  That's when I did it. Maybe it was the vodka, maybe it was the way his deep brown eyes felt like he could see straight into my soul when he looked at me. Maybe it was the thickness that crept into his voice when he told me I was beautiful, making me think that it was something he felt too. That he shared my secret fantasy. That he wanted me too.

  It started out just like a teenage romance movie, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his and he didn't back away. He leaned in. He leaned in and he opened his lips and for a minute he kissed me so passionately I thought my heart would explode out of my chest with joy.

  His hand moved to cradle the side of my face as his tongue penetrated my mouth and explored my lips. I moved closer to him, giving him freer access to my body as he pushed closer to me till his chest was pressed against mine, knocking me backwards, pinning me against the floor.

  I had been a virgin. Secretly, I had been saving myself for exactly this moment, hoping for the opportunity to offer myself to him. Thinking it was the greatest gift I had to offer, the best way I could convince him of how much I loved him.

  The blur of vodka and energy drink gave way to the blur of my excitement as heat built pressure between my legs, my pussy lips throbbing as his hand moved down to stroke my aching folds.

  My fingers combed through the long curls as they fell down around my face. I moved my hands from his hair to his broad shoulders, savoring the combination of textures, the powerful muscles flexed in his back as he held himself above me and the hard angles of bone. I ran my hands down his back, over the firm muscles of his ass and back up again.

  I helped as he tugged my panties off and spread my knees wider apart so he could settle himself between my thighs as I opened myself to him. He slipped his fingers through my wetness and slid them in and out of me as I reached down to free his erection from the soft flannel pajama pants he was wearing.

  It was all so awkward and so tender. Our kiss was never broken as he pushed the silken head of his turgid cock against the tightness of my opening. It took some pressure to force himself past my virginity and I gasped slightly into his mouth. He went slow and slid himself all the way into me, then he held himself firmly against me. He turned his head slightly to pant against my cheek with his eyes shut tightly as he held on to me, as if I might not be real and could disappear out from under him in a heartbeat.

  But it had been real. I remember thinking it too, he was real and he was really deep inside me and as he held me closely for that moment the brief sting of pain subsided and was replaced by a sensation of fullness that was more satisfying than any of the masturbatory daydreams I had entertained of this moment. I felt my body relax around him and then I was overcome with the need to move, I began to arch my back, trying to pull him deeper inside me.

  It was then that his mouth resumed its desperate hunger against mine as he pulled back, making me whimper against his tongue's continued exploration of my mouth before he pushed back into me and then again. And then again. Until we were moving against each other in a matched rhythm, hip to hip, breathing into each other's mouths, the hard, muscled flesh of his chest beating against the soft roundness of my breasts, our sweat mingled and glistening between us in the soft glow of light from the forgotten television until I felt something new sweeping over me, crashing over me and carrying me high into space before I felt the walls of my tunnel begin to spasm around him. Before it was over, I felt his grip on me tighten, our endless kiss was finally broken as we both gasped for our own breath. I felt his cock expand within me and then he was burying his face against my neck as he let out a long moan while thrusting one final t
ime into me.

  We had laid together for a long time. Not speaking, just stroking each other's hair and skin and kissing until we fell asleep in each other's arms.

  I thought that night meant something to him. I thought it was the beginning of a new relationship, that we would face the obstacles before us as a team. As a couple.

  The next morning he was gone when I woke up.

  His roommate drove me home.

  Erik wouldn't return my texts, my emails, my calls. One day the following week, I came home from my shift at work and found the Honda in the driveway, loaded up like he was leaving forever. If only I'd known he actually was! I found him in the kitchen with Mom and Dad, they looked sad and worried but they were all in a good mood. Mom hugged Erik and told him to make sure he let her know when he "got there" and then Erik walked past me and out the door. I ran after him and stood beside him as he made some efforts to secure his worldly belongings on the bike and I begged him to talk to me.

  "You're leaving?" I asked incredulously.

  "Yeah, Kelse, I gotta go."

  "Where? When are you coming back?"

  "Don't know." He settled into the leather seat and turn to look at me as he fastened the strap on his helmet, "Don't worry 'bout it, 'k?"

  I wasn't sure what he meant. Worry about what? The making love part? Or his going away part?

  I had stood there staring at him as I tried to comprehend what was happening, not knowing what to say or how to convince him not to leave. He finally gave me half a smile as the bike roared to life, "Take care of them. I'll see ya sometime." And he was gone. Rolling out of our driveway and down the street just as Mom came out with her camera.

  Back to reality here in the present, I wrapped a rubber band around the postcards and put the pile in the box marked "keep." I wasn't sure who I was keeping them for. Maybe Erik would want them someday. If I ever saw him again.

  ***

  I stared nervously around me as I stood at the door of the chapel and greeted relatives and friends of my parents. Richard paced in the small courtyard just outside, his phone glued to his ear as he tried to solve the world's problems by remote.