Stinger Read online

  Well, maybe the birds and the bees, I guess.

  I stammer for a minute, as he walks past, and I can barely manage anything intelligible at all.

  He drops his towel, and somehow magically turns it into a rattail, which he then cracks on my wet ass.

  It makes a satisfactory smacking sound, and he laughs, as he walks away, while I flush completely red.

  His perfect ass, with those dimples on each side, moons me.

  “I don’t think Keith-David washed that one, yet,” he says, over his shoulder, as he walks towards the room he shares with his twin brother.

  My other stepbrother.

  “Maybe you guys shouldn’t wait for the maid, all the time, huh?” I yell at his receding ass.

  What an asshole…

  —————

  I go back to my room, and gather up my things, and take them downstairs to the breakfast nook table, where Keith-David is sitting, eating a late breakfast.

  He pounds down some ham and eggs, and washes it down with black coffee, and tomato juice.

  The remnants of some toast and pancakes sit on his plate, briefly, before his hungry eyes rest on them.

  Then, they, too are gone.

  His plate clean, he stands up and strolls over to the sink, where he rinses the plate, meticulously.

  He then places it carefully in the dishwasher, with almost surgical precision.

  I giggle, and he turns to look at me.

  “What’s so funny, Bee?” he asks, with a quizzical look on his rugged face.

  He’s his brother’s identical twin, physically.

  His five-o-clock shadow is already dark, even though he’s already showered and prepared for the day’s practice.

  His eyes are the same shade of blue; his close-cropped hair the same dirty-blonde color.

  He smiles at me, shaking his head, and again, my thighs go through that little tingle and flush as my brain goes to forbidden places.

  It is déjà vu, all over again!

  Keith-David is wearing a tight-fitting V-neck, and blue jeans.

  He gathers up his backpack, and helmet, and then turned to grin at me.

  “Say, Bee, would you mind washing my jersey, after you’re through with it, of course?” he says, innocently.

  Then, as he give me a once-over, he looks me up and down, and reconsiders.

  “On second thought, depending on what you’re using it for, just toss it on my bed,” he adds, evilly.

  I blush to the clavicle.

  Laughing, the bastard strides out the door, his tight ass molded into those blue jeans as if they are painted on.

  My eyes are glued to his glutes, as the door closes behind him.

  I sit there, my senses spinning, and try futilely to recapture my brilliant idea.

  I have little to no luck in that regard, as my lady parts are suddenly screaming for some personal attention.

  “Later!” I scold / promise myself.

  After all, a girl has needs…

  Hell, I just had taken my morning shower!

  Why did I have to be cursed with twin stepbrothers who looked like gods?

  —————

  CHAPTER TWO

  BEA

  Keith-David and David-Keith are running backs for the Wasps college football team.

  It’s slightly ironic, considering that our parents run a farm, and part of that is about three acres of alfalfa and ryegrass, where they keep a large number of beehives.

  The twins were brought into the business of honey making and beekeeping as teenagers.

  Every summer, they would help my stepfather build the hives, and move them from field to field when they needed to space them out.

  My stepbrothers are the progeny of my stepdad and his first wife, Nancy.

  Nancy died in an accident when they were very young, and they admit to not remembering anything at all about her.

  Frank remarried my mother, when the twins were seniors in high school.

  My Dad is in the Marines, and was always on a mission somewhere in the world.

  He could never tell us where he had been, or where he was going.

  Mom had fallen in love with him in high school, and they married when she got pregnant one weekend when he’d come back to visit her, after basic training.

  She’d managed to raise me, but not having Dad around took its toll on her.

  Mom divorced my Dad, when he came back from one of his overseas tours.

  She told me that she had just hated being alone, and that she thought it would do me some good to have a father who was actually a man of the house who was around, and not a shadow who sometimes showed up.

  I guess she wasn’t cut out for the military wife role.

  I missed my Dad, sure, but I also went about living my life.

  It was awkward at school events, where only my Mom was in the audience, but I never saw my Dad’s face there.

  Mom was always there; she never missed a show; Dad never showed, and he was always missed.

  When Frank and Mom got married, they were always there from then on.

  I guess it did make a difference, to me, in some fashion.

  It was nice to see them out there, cheering me on, regardless of how ridiculous I looked, dancing or singing or prancing about.

  But, I really wished it was my Dad, out there, in the dark.

  —————

  Frank’s okay, for sure, but he’s that typical farmer kind of man.

  You know the type.

  Rugged, taciturn, no-nonsense and practical; that’s Frank.

  He and Mom got the farm going, full-time, and hired some hands to help them out until they were able to get it profitable.

  Frank is pretty clever, too, and he went ahead and started a side-business making and selling beehives and other things from the lumber he sawed from trees he harvested on the farm.

  While the entire farm is over one-thousand acres, the three-acre apiary isn’t very large; but, I love to work there.

  It gets hot and muggy, to be sure, especially in the Summer.

  But, the reward is oh-so sweet!

  Literally!

  Once you get used to them, the bees are just like any other flying insect.

  They remind me most of butterflies, except when they swarm.

  I wear the traditional beekeeper gear, with the hat and net and the gloves, and the long sleeved shirt and pants.

  Frank and Mom and the twins and I look all weird and alien when we’re harvesting the honey, or moving the hives.

  The bees fly all around us, and we amuse ourselves by making bee-beards, or bee-underarm ornaments, or whatever.

  It’s a lot of hard work, but it’s fun, and relaxing in a natural way.

  Plus, we get all that yummy honey!

  Usually, Mom and I collect the honey, while the men repair or move the hives, or smoke the bees to make them sleepy.

  Keith-David loves to find the queens, and puts a little dot of white-out on them to mark them.

  I don’t need that, because I can tell just by looking.

  —————

  CHAPTER THREE

  BEA

  I’m the youngest, now, at nineteen, but was only fifteen when Mom and Frank got married.

  It was a lovely ceremony, and I was the flower girl.

  My twin steps were ringbearers.

  One had the ring for Frank, the other for my Mom.

  They were married by an Ordained Minister, and she messed up the ceremony by calling Frank by the wrong name.

  “Do you Ed, take Margaret to be your lawful wedded wife?” she had said.

  Mom looked horrified, but Frank just leaned over and whispered, “My name is Frank, Ma’am,” to the embarrassed Minister.

  She barely missed a beat, and continued on.

  We all nearly lost it, though, when the Good Reverend took a moment to make absolutely sure my of my Mom’s name.

  Even Frank chuckled a little at that.

  ——�
�——

  After the wedding, Frank and Mom danced, while the twins and I got acquainted.

  It wasn’t like they were total strangers, since Mom and I had moved to the farm about six months earlier.

  But, now that we were ‘legally’ related, it made things a bit awkward.

  No longer could my wild teenage kissing fantasies be about ‘the twin’s’.

  Now, they’d have to include that little disclaimer… ‘my stepbrothers’.

  Rats.

  —————

  Not that it really changed anything, to be honest.

  I mean, I’d discovered my sexuality, and even had tried to get a boyfriend or two, during high school.

  I dated this nerd, Ted, and after it became painfully clear that he’d rather build computers than fool around, biologically speaking, I moved onto a big lummox sports dude.

  From one extreme to the other.

  Charles was a nice enough guy, and a pretty decent kisser, to be sure.

  But, he was hung up on only wanting to kiss and have me give him hand-jobs, and didn’t seem to want to go to the next level.

  Also, he couldn’t get into giving me oral sex, or anything past third base.

  I mean, he tried once or twice, but the way he gave my pussy the evil eye, and the faces he made when he licked my clit turned me off really fast.

  I resigned myself to just letting him kiss me, and rub my lopsided boobs, and jerk him off.

  His spunk ended up in a tissue, and I ended up frustrated.

  We wrestled around in the back seat of his car, but it usually ended with me just pushing him away, and him looking puzzled at why I wasn’t ecstatic that he came.

  As it turned out, he was figuratively wrestling with his own sexuality; I was still too naïve to recognize ‘gay’ when I saw it.

  We broke up during the Summer, when I was busy with the bees, and he was busy with the neighbor boy.

  I didn’t find out about that until college, when I ran into him and his current boyfriend, a rather effeminate Jamaican student, with eyeglasses and a lisp.

  It was kind of funny, in a sort of mean way, because he couldn’t say ‘Charles’, and instead called him ‘Pookiebear’.

  I mean, I thought he’d just call him ‘Chuck’, right?

  We sat at a table in a pizza joint, drinking a pitcher of Bud Lite between us, and filled in some missing blanks.

  Charles apologized to me about not really knowing he was gay, and that he had been trying to hide it from his parents.

  But, the next door boy, Marc, caught his eye when they were passing a football around one afternoon.

  He confessed it suddenly hit him that he wanted to kiss Marc, and couldn’t understand the confused feelings he had.

  It took a few more weeks for him to get up the courage to ask Marc out.

  Marc was eager, and flattered, and pretty soon Charles had finally lost his virginity.

  That happened around the week we broke up, so I guess technically he cheated on me.

  But, by then I knew it was over, so I really wasn’t too heartbroken over the entire thing.

  However, I was a bit miffed that Charles was no longer a virgin.

  I kind of figured I had wasted my time, until he mentioned that he thought I gave the best hand-job he’d ever had.

  This got me a stern look from his Jamaican lover, Devon.

  “Gurl,” he scolded Charles, “Once you get whack by a black you ain’t never go back!”

  I was stunned, and then laughed my ass off.

  Charles looked a bit sheepish, then he and Devon joined in the laughter.

  I guess I knew who wore the pants in that relationship.

  —————

  My next attempt at losing my virginity was this bad boy type, named James.

  He was the typical rebel without a cause brooding loner type, but he smelled rugged and manly.

  I liked hanging out with him, since he drove Mom crazy.

  She always told me we would end up dead on the road, since he had one of those big Harley’s.

  It was loud and belched thick smoke, but it was a blast to ride bitch as we zoomed along the highway.

  Once, I even took off my top as we raced by a trucker, and he almost wrecked from the sight of my lopsided tits bouncing in the cold air.

  James wanted to fuck, but there was always something getting in the way.

  Either he got drunk and passed out, or he had to leave to ‘go on a run’ as he put it.

  Nature interfered with my loss of virginity once again.

  I was sure James would get around to fucking me silly eventually.

  But, one night he took off, and went drunk-driving around on his motorcycle, while smoking a cigarette.

  Or maybe it was a joint…

  He met a tractor-trailer semi coming around a blind corner, and it fucked him silly instead.

  Forever.

  Ouch…

  —————

  In any event, I was pretty good at cards, but not at love.

  So, my virtue remained intact.

  Lucky me.

  —————

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BEA

  David-Keith comes down to the breakfast nook, and his hair is still wet, and his eyes glitter with mirth.

  “Hey! Did you eat all the pancakes, Honeybee?” he says.

  He opens the refrigerator, and scans the contents, looking for something to shove into his gorgeous mouth.

  I think for a moment about something of mine I would love to shove into his mouth, which makes me think about something of his I wouldn’t mind if he shoved into my mouth, and then my brain short-circuits again, and I drop my pencil.

  I bend over to retrieve it, but it rolls from under the table, next to his left shoe.

  I get up, and try to retrieve it, but I can’t reach it, so I get down on my knees, using my left hand to brace myself against the fridge.

  Unfortunately, this places my mouth right at the level of the enormous bulge in David-Keith’s workout shorts.

  I try to pick up the pencil, but I’m distracted by the outline of David-Keith’s member.

  He still has his head stuck in the door, and isn’t paying much attention, when I fumble as he goes to grab the milk from the shelf.

  “Oh!” I shout, and fall right onto his lap.

  My open mouth lands directly on his erection, and I involuntarily kiss his cock, right there, in the middle of the shaft.

  David-Keith stands up, straight, and tries to back away, but my face is glued to his groin, as he steps backwards from the refrigerator.

  I cause him to stumble and he lands flat on his ass, with a loud thump.

  My face bounces up and down on his groin, in a parody of a blowjob.

  David-Keith watches with interest, and when I finally stop my show, he’s almost ready to laugh out loud.

  “Geez, Honeybee,” he says, covering his smile with his hand.

  “I know we’re all out of sausage, but…” he continues, shaking his head.

  He chortles, and rubs the top of my head, like I’m some kind of pet.

  Then, he slides back, and my chin drops to the floor with a thud.

  I lay there, almost an entire minute, as my stepbrother rises and brushes the dust from his ass.

  It’s an identical clone of Keith-David’s, and my brain does its stupid short-circuit again, and suddenly I am very aware of my situation.

  Mortified, I pull away, a strand of saliva still clinging to his now-erect penis outline, the silvery string stretching from my lower lip to the ballistic nylon of his shorts.

  I stand up, shaking, running from the room, trying not to cry, leaving the pencil to sit there on the floor.

  My drawings are forgotten in my need to escape the situation.

  I’m not sad, just angry, as I squeeze the bitter tears from my eyes.