Brothers And Sisters - Chapter 1 free porn video

I'm not even the one who brought Bear Island into the house. That honour fell to my sister Amelia who had ordered it online using Mum's card, and who'd gobbled up the parcel on its arrival and ran upstairs with it, to her small bedroom, which was situated next to mine. I didn't even know much about it, save for the odd glimpse and sound of it as I walked past Amelia's often ajar door. It looked very "kiddy" - what with its fluffy animals, bright colour and cutesy graphics. In truth, I was surprised even Amelia wanted to play it, such was her normal tendency to rather more boyish pursuits (she was a better footballer than I'd ever been, and a far more adroit climber of trees or splasher in mud), but play it she did, long into the evening as the spring air grew milder and the streets outside her open window quietened, filled instead with the light sounds of Amelia plugging away at her new game. To do so she normally sat cross-legged on the floor, on a purple rug which sat at the end of her bed in the small space between that and her pink television, her long blonde hair pulled into a pony-tail and clad in the purple pyjamas that Mum had dressed her in on the off chance she might actually go to bed, rather than sit playing her game. Given I'd finished at sixth form the previous summer, and given that a trip to University seemed ever less likely with every day spent wasted, watching non-descript videos on YouTube or ropey porn on ropey websites, I found myself with a lot of time alone in the house alone, Amelia at Junior School and Mum at work. At first this had been a tremendous novelty, and I spent many a (happyish) morning on the sofa, often unencumbered by underwear or other such constraints, trying to forget the pressures of "having to do something with my life" as I recklessly deposited my tea-mug on the table sans-coaster, or practiced my burping of the alphabet until I reckoned myself a shoo-in for the gold medal at the Olympics - if the event was ever introduced. It was such solitude, and a tiring of hearing myself burp, that encouraged and allowed my sneak into Amelia's room on that April morning (I was otherwise banned from her room, on pain of death apparently) to sate my interest in this new game she was playing, which seemed to consume her time so thoroughly, in way I find myself increasingly jealous of in my terribly bored state of mind. I knew caution was needed, and so ensured I set myself up a new profile on the game, which after a few minutes research, I realised I could hide behind the parental controls Mum had set on Amelia's console, to which I had found the password for in Mum's wardrobe a few weeks before. I was met, on start-up, by a such a smattering of bright, saccharine colours that I thought I could feel my teeth ache from the sugar rush, and came very close in that instance to turning the console straight off, given the overwhelming sense of embarrassment I felt as I sat back on Amelia's canary yellow bedspread, her frilled pillows buffeting the back of my head from her soft-pink headboard. And yet I didn't. Of course I now wish, my just about all my heart, that I had. But while the flesh was willing the mind - so starved of anything new or anything on this level of sensory overload - was weak, and I instead found myself entering my name using the very controller I had seen Amelia clasp so dearly over the last few weeks (I called myself by normal nom de plume - JESSMESS02) and then, when presented with the option of being a "boy" or a "girl', I very quickly selected the former, trying to convince myself that my curiosity for the game was normal, and that it really wasn't a children's game. I had seen lots of adults playing it on YouTube after all. And now, I was one of them. The "boy" bear, called forever JESSMESS02, required customisation. On this, there could be little doubt that your bear was far from an adult. Quite aside from the fact that your clothing choices contained nothing even remotely grown up (I settled on a pair of dark denim dungarees over a blue and white striped t-shirt in the end, save for a better option), you also had to choose a favourite toy for yourself. The choices, in increasing childishness, were a football, a baby blue book, a toy car, and a small blue, fluffy teddy bear. I chose, after a few second's deliberation, the football, and then completed my Bear Island representative with a cutesy blue cap - not optional it seemed - and what seemed to be blue buckle up shoes. Naturally, I thought, the bear can't even tie his own shoelaces. It was around 11am when I started the game up, and by 11.20 I was finished. It was so terribly stupid and boring I thought, turning off the console and making sure to switch back to Amelia's profile, which was denoted by a pixel-art girl with blonde pig-tailed hair and blue eyes, that I felt annoyed at myself for even daring to play it. While no talented gamer myself, I simply couldn't understand the appeal of a game where the purpose seemed to be to collect pieces of wood to build yourself a slightly better cabin, or to collect fruit to create yourself a "fruit pie." For the cabin you needed 1000 pieces of wood - my ten minutes or so garnered just 10 - and for the fruit pie you needed 50 (!) cherries - my ten minutes had garnered 3. Worse still, the island was shared with two computer controlled bears, both girls for some reason, one who carried around a pink book and one, seemingly younger, who carried around a pink fluffy teddy bear, and who, just liked Amelia always had when she was a little girl - followed you around incessantly, trying to talk in a high pitched squeal that quite hurt my ears. These girl teddies weren't collecting wood or cherries to help, naturally. Instead, their purpose seemed to be to utter inane utterances about my "cute" outfit, or the "cool" weather. Why was Amelia playing this junk, I considered, shutting her door as I left. She was a clever girl - with better marks in school that I ever managed - and I couldn't believe she'd be entered by something so obviously aimed at younger children than her 10 years. Not to mention how delicate it seemed - at odds with Amelia's normal rough and tumble nature, a nature which had often seen her and Mum fight over another pair of ripped leggings, or another torn school-dress. She would tire of it soon, I concluded, returning back to the sofa and relieving myself of my shorts and pants, just in time for Ten and Out - the game show I'd become mildly addicted to in the vacuum of my meaningless days. I'd put the game from my mind by the next morning, at least until Amelia arrived very late to the breakfast table, her hair messy and her uniform hanging awkwardly and carelessly on her lanky frame, snatching the last piece of toast from my approaching hand as she climbed onto the chair opposite. "You're a mess," Mum admonished, shaking her head. She herself was dressed neatly in her carer's uniform, dark blonde hair pulled into a perfunctory pony-tail. "Sorry," Amelia replied, not sounding it. Her eyes were a little bloodshot, a sure-fire sign she'd been up late, covertly playing her game. I knew as much from the sound of it wafting through our shared wall, but had fallen asleep long before she had, clearly. "Mummy," she said, her previously neutral expression exploding into one of untamed excitement, "can Sophia come 'round tonight? She wants to play Bear Island, and I want to show her what I built yesterday. You should see it Mummy! It's a real swimming pool, with deckchairs and everything, and...." "Fine fine," Mum said, clearly not in the slightest bit interested, and probably already thinking about the glass of Friday night wine she'd treat herself too. Word of the game sent a twinge racing through me, and frankly I felt embarrassed to have had any curiosity whatsoever about a game that Amelia and her little friends were probably wittering on about on the playground. And yet, it was a curiosity that needled away at me all throughout the morning and perhaps even led to the juicing of my competitive spirit. Had Amelia really progressed in the game to such a point that she was building swimming pools? What did the pool look like, and what materials had she needed? And why, most importantly, was I thinking about it at all? Sophia and Amelia arrived home from school just after 4, with Mum following wearily in tow and throwing her bag on the sideboard as the girls rushed upstairs, giggling and laughing. Sophia was a new friend and therefore not one I knew much about, a fact that didn't change much throughout the evening as the sound of their chatting and laughing snaked itself through the wall to my bedroom, where I was trying (and failing) to play the new World of Errion RPG I'd bought myself with the last of my birthday money. When I did finally meet Sophia, over the table at a late dinner of takeaway Pizza, I noted that she was quite a bit smaller than Amelia and looked quite a lot younger than my sister, despite their being in the same year at school. She was wearing purple leggings and a pink hoodie adorned with a liberally sized pink star on the front, with her chestnut hair styled into a bob which danced around the top of her shoulders and tickled the top of her small, round, chestnut-coloured eyes. Like Amelia, she barely looked in my direction as we wolfed down the Pizza in a collective effort, instead wordlessly discussing what they could do next on the Island, and whether the boy bear of their choosing could be persuaded to move in with them. "Stupid," I muttered, to each and both of them. "What do you know?" Amelia snapped by return, her eyes narrowing as they always did when she was angry. I knew enough, I thought idly, but said no-more. For the rest of the evening, for reasons I could little understand, I spent nearly all of it thinking about Bear Island, and wondering if I'd been too hard on it the first time around. It certainly seemed relaxing, and probably more fun, than the dense, complicated game I was trying to get to grips with, and it was only when I reminded myself that it was, of course, not as complicated as my game because it was aimed at pre-teens, that I was somewhat able to concentrate again on my own endeavours. Yet, in my frustration at not being to defeat the very first goblin of Errion in my game was real, and very, very annoying. It being the weekend, Sophia stayed over, and in the morning Mum took the girls swimming, which neither girl, addicted as they were to their world of bears, seemed overly enamoured with. This left me alone in the house again, and after my morning shower (I have always been a stickler for cleanliness), and after trying my best to brush down my ever more unruly head of curly hair, I simply could not stop myself slinking into Amelia's room again, and from taking my place on her bed and firing up the console. Having left in a rush, mostly because the girls had had to be dragged away from the game, I'd needed to move both girl's pyjamas off the bed first, and I deposited them neatly in the wash basket by the door, reminded myself to put them back afterwards. The game booted up again quickly but, because Amelia had left so abruptly, it did so in her saved game, and with her girl bear standing outside the very impressive cabin she'd built. The bear was dressed in a purple and white polka dot dress with a matching purple ribbon in its hair, and I found myself surprised again at Amelia's girly side, unless of course the choice of outfit had been Sophia's. Still, afraid of detection, and with the thought of controlling a girl bear just too embarrassing, I quickly changed over to my profile, and to my sad looking bear outside his sad looking cabin. One piece of wood. Two. Three. One cherry. Two. Three. Slowly, but surely, I started to feel a strange sereneness wash over me, as though my mind had transported fully into the game on the screen, leaving behind my body. This had happened before when engrossed in a video game or a book, but this was somehow different. I found the upward clicking of my wood and fruit reserves oh-so relaxing, and even the chirping of my girl-bear companions started to seem strangely appealing. "What are you doing?" I whispered to myself, as I received, with some glee, a small wooden lamp in the post which I placed carefully on the table next to my "bear-bed', with the girl-bears clapping and jumping at my fine achievement. This was enough to make me switch the game off, and thankfully too, as Mum and the girls returned not 5 minutes after, rushing into Amelia's bedroom with the speed of a hungry hyena, and closing the door behind them. I resolved again to leave the game alone, a feat which I managed quite successfully for the next week, even though I found myself thinking of it fairly frequently, and even though I found myself oddly jealous as Amelia would regale us with stories of her latest triumphs over the breakfast or dinner table. I have told you that my sister is somewhat of a tomboy. This makes our Sunday trip to church all the more painful for her, given Mum's insistence that she wear one of her nicer dresses. On this particular Sunday, it meant a white, knee length dress with a purple sash and purple tights, all of which Amelia railed against in her normal fashion, not least because she wanted to stay at home and play Bear Island. I took the opportunity to tease her a little, which as usual, took the form of me telling her that she looked like a marshmallow and, when she rushed at me in anger (which Mum blocked her from doing), that "pretty little girls" shouldn't play rough. Not that I was spared some embarrassment of my own, having to fit myself into my only good suit and which, with its red bow-tie, looked far from one of the stylish grown-up suits other boys, and certainly the Men, wore. "You should have bought yourself something better then," Mum said, when I complained that I'd been wearing said suit since the age of 12 or 13, "instead of wasting all your money on silly computer games. How is your job search going, by the way?" I took that as fair enough warning to quieten myself, and Amelia took it as fair enough opportunity to rub salt into the wounds. "You really should have a job Jessie," she smirked, "or at least help Mum with the housework more." While Father Thomas prattled on about something or over, Amelia and I nudged each other in the ribs with increasing intensity until, upon a particularly sharp jab from Amelia, I let out a squeal of discomfort. "Stop it you two," Mum hissed, slapping Amelia's hands and pushing them down to rest on the skirt of her frothy white dress. "Baby," Amelia whispered to me, which was overheard by Sophia, sitting to Amelia's left with her Mum and Dad, and dressed in her own white frock, with a lacy fold down collar and a purple hairband running atop her head. "Yeah, baby," Sophia giggled quietly. My cheeks reddened at this slight, especially coming from a little girl who looked no more than 7 or 8, and who I hadn't even met until a week before! Amelia noticed this and whispered, "Don't cry baby. I promise I won't hurt you again. And neither will Sophia." "Shut up," I whispered in return, shuffling away from my evil sister ever so slightly and therefore towards Mum who, even more agitated now, told me to sit still. This is where, with heavy heart and no little embarrassment, I really must tell you of other recent events. The first time had been just before Christmas. Amelia, admonished by Mum for not doing her homework and having had her favourite football taken away, had started to cry at the dinner table, shouting at Mum that, "it wasn't fair," and, "I hate you." Naturally I couldn't miss the opportunity for a little teasing, and so spent the evening mimicking Amelia's childish squawking, right down to the girlish tears. At first Amelia had responded with only hateful glances, sent my way from her position on the rug of the front room, where she was attending to aforementioned late homework, but at some point in the evening, perhaps when tiredness had overtaken her, she had snapped and hurtled with full-body in my direction, all red eyes and messy hair. "I HATE YOU," she shouted, leaping atop of me before I'd even had the chance to consider moving and then, with a strength I could barely comprehend, began to bang her fists firmly into my chest, leaving me in quite a state of shock. With Mum upstairs, I had little option but to throw the still raging Amelia off but, on my first attempt to do so, I was amazed to find her able to scoop both my arms up with just her right hand and hold them steadily behind my back, as she continued to pound my with her left fist. "Amelia, stop it," I began to cry, mortified at my inability to do anything in the face of an attack by my 10 year-old sister. Amelia didn't care though, and with her salty tears falling onto my face, continued to hit me with all the uncontrollable rage of a slighted little sister. I don't think I'll ever forget the look in Mum's eyes when, at my somewhat desperate calling, she finally arrived to pull Amelia from me. What look can a Mother give to her 18 year-old son, after he'd been so thoroughly overpowered by his little sister? And though it was Amelia sent to bed, I could do little but slink there myself, able only to mutter desperate explanations along the lines of, "I didn't want to hurt her," and, "I wasn't sure what to do." And so, like a Bear now able to build a swimming pool, Amelia had learned a new skill, and one she was only too happy to roll out when necessary. There was the time on Boxing Day when I'd refused to switch over to the football like she wanted, which ended with her pulling my arm behind my back and begging to be let go. Or the time after her Brownie's class when, still dressed in her yellow top and brown skirt, she had barrelled into me as punishment for laughing at her silly bird-feeder she'd built, ending with her sitting squarely on my chest and slapping my cheeks, as her expression slowly turned from one of anger, to one of mirth. What could I do? Worse than the sheer general embarrassment of it, was how Mum would end up admonishing both of us on such occasions, or even telling me off for fighting with my "little sister." "You should be the grown up," she'd say, "Amelia's only 10. What's your excuse?" This felt terribly unfair, even though it was always me winding Amelia up, rather than the other way around. Back to the bears. Now fairly well unable to mask my enthusiasm and addiction to the game, I started to make my way to Amelia's room as soon as I'd heard everyone leave for the day, and generally stay routed there, apart from trips to the bathroom and to the kitchen for refreshments. By the end of the week (I was dreading the weekend, given how little opportunity I'd have to play), I thrown myself into the game completely - research things online almost all the time and taking pride in my ever more impressive cabin and amenities. I knew I'd managed a few things Amelia had not, like the crafting of a hot air balloon and unlocking the key to the third set of exploration caves, and while I took momentary pride at my level of achievement, it was quickly washed away by embarrassment that I'd feel boastful at being better at a children's game than my 10 year old sister. My next fight with Amelia came a couple of weeks later, by which point I suspected I'd played the game almost as most as she had, not least because I'd noticed her going to out to play again more often, or of her and Sophia making daisy chains in the garden or listening to music and dancing along to it, rather than playing the game. It was frustrating to me that the console could sit there un-played for hours on end while I sat, bored, in my room, but unless I wanted to reveal myself as a Bear Island addict, there was little I could do. I tried playing Errion again, but quickly gave up in utter frustration. The fight, like most of our fights, was rooted in the mundane. To my shame, after Amelia had started to rush to the kitchen to tell Mum that I'd spilled tea on the coffee-table, I had reached out in an attempt to pull her back by the hair, which had elicited a sharp, girlish squeal, and a face of thunder, from a now sore, and angry, Amelia. As payback, she made an attempt to pull my hair, which elicited a not too dissimilar cry from me, and at the sound of which Mum stormed in, finding us rolling around the floor, trying to pull each other's hair! "STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT," she said, this time pulling me off Amelia, and then fending Amelia off with her right hand when she tried to make one last attempt to get at my, now very sore, head, "WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU TWO RECENTLY?" "He started it," Amelia said, turning on the waterworks. Mum, seemingly at a loss for other action, threw both hands into her own hair and started to shake her head wildly, "honestly, honestly. It's like having two little children, two toddlers, fighting each other," at this point she locked her eyes onto mine, and onto my now messy hair, "you're 18 Jessie! What are you doing? You're acting like you're a 10 year old...girl!" "I'm not," I raged by return, before the sheer embarrassment of the telling off starting to well up inside me, bringing stinging tears to my eyes! "You'll BOTH go to your rooms and stay there," she continued, waving away my early attempts at complaint, "you want to act like a spoilt little brat, you'll be treated like one. Both of you." Though full of her own complaints, I could see Amelia's eyes widen with no little mirth as I was dragged upstairs on the other side of Mum to her, and I had to stand and watch from the corner of her room (a room I now knew very well), as she lifted Amelia's console straight from the cabinet and placed it under her arm. "I don't care anyway," Amelia ranted, throwing herself on her bed face first and beginning to sob, while pounding her fists into the pillows I had so often relaxed on recently. "Mum, I'm sorry, really," I said, as she dragged me into my room. There was no verbal response though, only the sight of a red face taking my console from my cabinet and tucking it under the other arm. "You can't be serious," I said, feeling mortally wounded and terribly ashamed. "Does it look like I'm not serious," she replied, "I don't want to hear music, I don't want to see you reading, I don't want to see you on your phone. Understood?" It was exactly the same warning she'd given Amelia moments before, and one I hadn't heard in my direction for many, many years. "I said you do you understand Jessie?" I was at a loss. There seemed little point arguing, but at the same time I couldn't let such childish punishment in my direction go without complaint. These complaints only stopped when, in a most extraordinary moment, Mum threatened a smack if the noise didn't subside, and quickly. "You wouldn't," I whispered, quite horrified. "Try me," she said, and her eyes told me what I was quite afraid to know. As if being sent to my room like a little boy wasn't bad enough, I found myself equally worried and troubled by her taking away of Amelia's console, and therefore of my Bear, who was so close to completing the recipe for Apricot Porridge. This, coupled with annoyance at my own stupidity and childishness, brought about more tears to my eyes, which I was happy no-one could see, but which I worried Amelia might hear. Worse was to follow. With Mum still in a rage, I listened through the wall later that night as she instructed Amelia to put her jammies on and get into bed ('this instance Missy'), and even more astonished when, wordlessly and with no fan-fare, so burst into my room afterwards and said, "You too Jessie." "But it's only 9pm!" I said, feeling my cheeks flush once more. "Like I said. Act like a brat, be treated like a brat." At this she began to rummage through my sock and underwear drawers, swotting my complaints away, "Where are those nice pyjamas your Grandma bought you for Christmas a couple of years ago?" "I don't know," I said, truthfully. I had taken to wearing just my briefs to bed - the thought of jammies quite ridiculous for someone my age, "I'll go to bed, but I'm fine as I am." At this Mum closed the sock draw angrily, "I swear Jessie, if this happens again....." She stopped for a moment, almost in tears herself. "I thought.....I thought....I mean by now you should be the man of the house Jessie, not squabbling with your sister." "I'm sorry Mum," I said quite honestly, suddenly very aware that she was, of course, quite right. No amount of antagonism from Amelia should lead me to pull her hair, and I certainly shouldn't be trying to wind her up. "Tomorrow you'll start looking for a job. I mean, really looking." I nodded. "And.....and if this happens again Jessie...." it as almost as if she were too angry to find the words, at least until they tumbled out of her and chilled me to my very bone, "....I swear to God, I'll put you in a pair of Amelia's pyjamas. Understood?" I shivered at the mere thought of it, not least because I was immediately sure that my little sister's Jammies would probably fit me just fine. "Go to sleep, now," she ended the conversation with, turning off my bedroom light, "and not another word." In the darkness I found myself completely smothered by the embarrassment of the situation. This wasn't helped by a careful but firm whispering through the wall, and of Amelia's chirpy, happy voice saying, "You'll look so pretty in my pyjamas Jessie. You'll suit them." With that, and with lingering thoughts of my poor Bear, locked away in his console prison just like I was locked away with my thoughts and fears, I tried desperately to go to sleep. May turned to June quickly, and thankfully without cause for me to feel any of Amelia's pyjamas on my completely terrified body. Not that things had returned to normal between Mum and I, there remained an air of anger on her part and embarrassment on mine, not helped by my miserable attempts to find the job she was so desperate for me to have. I'd had a couple of interviews, and sent plenty of applications, but it seemed the world was not looking for a thin, pasty 18 year-old of very small build and with little in the way of qualifications. Consoles remained locked away for only a week, but on their return I was surprised to find Mum had changed the parental lock password (I could fathom why she'd do so) and I could think of no good reason to ask her for the new one, nor was I able to find it written down anywhere. I tried all the normal ones - newkidsontheblock80, or bridgetjones999 - but came up blank every time. This resulted in a most frustrating morning of sitting in Amelia's room (and trying to ignore her discarded nightie in the wash-basket and all its horrible portentous meaning), and finding myself truly emotional at the thought of my saved game being lost for ever. I should, of course, have used the opportunity to ween myself off the game, but finding myself with the kind of addiction other weaknesses have clinics for, and suspecting that Amelia's time with the game was at an end, I instead found myself loading up her save game, and therefore suddenly in control of her "AmeliaXXX" bear, dressed in what appeared to be a princess dress of green taffeta. "Stop it," I said to myself, willing myself to turn off the console but instead changing the bear into a pair of pink dungarees (this seemed more reasonable) and then wandering around the world Amelia, and Sophia, had made. It was a lot "cuter" than my world, with lots of pink flowers around the place, likely Sophia's work I imagined, and with boy bears as friends instead of girls (I was the girl now, I thought with a wince). Still being a girl bear mattered little once attending to normal chores, apart from being called Miss, and so within a few hours I'd almost come to forget it was Amelia's game I was playing, and even starting to flavour the, much more attractive, house the girls had built. By the time we'd reached mid-June, with the weather balmy and a somewhat more peaceful air created between Amelia and myself, I had fully immersed myself in her save game, and found myself thinking of "AmeliaXXX" rather than my own bear, and proud of my work to improve her efforts. This all changed on that fateful third Saturday of the month when, for reasons I simply couldn't understand, Amelia and Sophia had decided to revisit their game. I hadn't even considered such a thing possible, or at least had come to forget it as a possibility, and I listened with cold horror as they discussed, in wonderment, at the progression of their game. "We didn't have a boat," Sophia said. "And we definitely didn't have a tree-house," Amelia added. I suppose I might have gotten away with it, but for the terribly clever Sophia thinking to look at the last modified date of the save-file, and looking into the play-time log the game (very unhelpfully) provided. And with the evidence of playtimes for hours on end, every weekday, between 8.30and and 3.30pm, it was clear to all who'd been playing it. "Not me," I said, as convincingly as I possibly could, but with cheeks burning. That Sophia was clad in a little purple sundress, and that even Amelia was wearing a flowery short skirt on account of the heat, made their laughter all the worse. "You've been playing our little game, how cute," Amelia said, grinning widely. "And you've made it even more prettier," Sophia added. "Thought you said it was a silly girl game?" Amelia said, folding her arms across her yellow t-shirt and suddenly looking very grown up. Then, with a sudden and delighted spark in her eyes, "Mummy, Mummy. Guess what...." By this time both she and Sophia had run from the room, and not even a pillow over my face could muzzle the sound of their excited chirping, about how I, had been playing a girls" game. I wanted to say it wasn't a girls" game, but such explanation, I feared, would fall on deaf ears. Upon their return Amelia was very happy to inform me that Mum had thought it ridiculous, and that she'd said I should be spending more time looking for a job. Sophia chimed in too, especially after the girls, with great mirth, had realised that I'd stocked up on new outfits (well, it was part of the game after all), including a pink swim-suit and many, many, new dresses, tops and skirts. "Why don't you play now?" Amelia said, grabbing my arm with her customary strength, "come on Jessie, we'd LOVE to see you playing your cute girl game." "Stop it Amelia," I said, pulling backwards. At this point Sophia grabbed my other arm, her dress bouncing against the bare legs under my chino shorts, and leaving me feeling quite overwhelmed and, shamefully, terrified. "LET GO," I yelled, as they dragged me towards the horrible precipice of Amelia's room. "Come on Jessie, Amelia bear is waiting for you. She'll be very grumpy if you don't play with her." Amelia said, in a little girl's voice. This was when all hell broke loose. Mustering every ounce of strength I possessed, and with my thoughts turning to a dark fog, I somehow managed to wiggle myself free from Sophia's grasp and then, without thinking, pushed the girl against the wall before she could come back at me, sending her into floods of tears but back onto her feet quickly, where she leaped at me like a cornered cat, claws at the ready. At the same time, Amelia had taken to pulling my hair again, and while I grasped desperately for someone's hair to pull by return (sometimes leading to Amelia squealing and sometimes to Sophia), both girls began to scream bloody murder, a terribly noise only stopped when Mum rushed upstairs and began the task of pulling the three of us, all in tears now, apart. "AGAIN?" She stormed, eyes darting between Amelia and me. "Girls, get in the room NOW. Jessie, get in your room NOW." "It's not fair," I cried, as the girls scuttled away, "I was minding my own business and...." But Mum wasn't listening, and after fairly throwing me onto the bed, slammed the door behind me with a look that said I better not DARE to come out. In the meantime I heard her take Sophia home, and found myself increasingly ashamed of my own sobs matching those of Amelia's next door, with our matching heartache somehow making me cry even harder. I was ready for Mum when she finally returned and began my weak explanations and apologies. She listened, or at least looked like she was listening, but at the point where I finally exhausted myself, and when I thought for a terrible moment that she might take me over her knee, she instead pulled out my middle draw and pushed my socks to one side, leaving half the draw free. "What are you doing?" I said, starting to cry again. "You know what I'm doing. Exactly what I promised to do last time." She was calmer now, but still retained a look of anger in her expression. "It's one thing to fight with your little sister Jessie. But with Sophia too? The girl's tiny!" She shook her head again. "And to think, you've been spending all your time playing a children's game! Is that why you haven't found a job?" "No...." I began, stopped by the shaking of her head. She returned moments later with a quite terrible bunch of lightly coloured nightwear in her grasp, which she placed firmly into my middle draw before closing it. "You'll pick something from there tonight....." she stopped to think, "and wear it for three nights. After that, just like Amelia does, you'll put it in the wash basket in her room and wear something else." "Please Mum," I said, grabbing her by the hand, "I'm really very sorry." "When you start acting like a man again...hell, even a boy...you can give Amelia back her jammies. Understood?" "I'm sorry," I said again, crying more heavily now. "Enough Jessie, really!" She snapped, "if you keep going-on I'll have to fetch a pair of her knickers for you to wear too. You don't want that, do you?" I shook my head very quickly. "Good boy then," she said, "now, not another word." I dared not look at my new items of clothing in the draw just inches from my head. Instead, I spent the last few hours before my first introduction to Amelia's clothes just crying, and wondering just how I'd let this happen, and just what, anything at all, I could do to get out of it.