How the Women Got Plastered and Patrick Got BustedChapter 8
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I found out later that my mother intended on dragging me, kicking and screaming back to the table. Randi stopped her. While I was hiding under my covers, upstairs in my bedroom, Randi told Mom to calm down, and dragged everything out of her that I’d said.
This was one of those times in your life that people talk about when they’re twenty years down the road ... the ones where you laugh like crazy about it then - twenty years down the road - but it was just mortifying when it actually happened. Maybe Randi recognized that. For that, or some other reason, she told me later that she went to the fridge and got my mother a beer. At seven-thirty in the morning. And she said my mother slammed the whole thing too! All the noise had awakened Tabby too. She shuffled past my door right about the time I was climbing into bed and pulling the covers over my head. I think her showing up in the kitchen, wanting to know what all the shouting was about might have helped calm my mother down a little bit too.
Anyway, not at all like the man I was trying to be, I cried like a baby under the covers. I was still sniffling, and thinking about ways to kill myself that wouldn’t hurt too much, when there was a knock on my door, and I heard it open.
You can’t stop the sniffles just because you want to. I tried hard. I rubbed my nose practically off, under the covers, but it didn’t work.
I felt somebody sit on the edge of the bed. I hoped whoever it was didn’t have a meat cleaver. I had my back to her, and if the first blow cut my spinal cord it might just leave me paralyzed.
“Boy, you sure know how to liven up a lazy morning,” said Randi.
“Go away,” I mumbled, sniffing some more, despite my best efforts.
“Guys don’t cry,” she said, swatting me on my hip. I was lying in a fetal position.
“News flash!“ I yelled. I didn’t have the energy to keep yelling. “They do when they do something that stupid,” I moaned.
I felt her hand on my hip again, but she just lay it there. “I wouldn’t call it stupid, exactly,” she said. “Ill-advised, maybe, or not well thought out. Ridiculous comes to mind, but not stupid.”
“Mom thought it was stupid,” I mumbled.
“You’re not stupid,” she said calmly. “You’re the only genius in the family.”
“Most famous geniuses go crazy,” I moaned. “I know how they feel, now.”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Come out from under there and talk to me.” Randi’s words sounded harsh, but not her voice.
She didn’t give me the chance. She pulled at the covers. I wasn’t expecting it, and when I grabbed for them, I missed. I had to settle for covering my head with my arms.
“Stop it, Pat!” Randi barked. Then she goosed me.
I ended up on the floor, looking up at her accusingly. She had a grin on her face. It did nothing, whatsoever for my ego.
“Okay,” I finally said. “Make fun of me and then get out!”
“I didn’t come in here to make fun of you,” she said. The smile vanished off her face, like smoke in the wind.
“You didn’t?”
“No, Pat,” she said soothingly.
“Why are you here, then?” I asked.
“I’m here because you are the only genius in this family,” she said. “Mom told me what you said ... about the project ... and I know you’re too smart to just try to pull something. That means you really were thinking about a project.”
I might be the family genius, but Randi was no dummy.
“I was,” I moaned. “I really was!”
“I know that,” she said smoothly. “Mom will eventually figure that out too.”
I blinked. She was right. Mom was no dummy either.
“You want to talk about it?” asked Randi. “Maybe we can fine tune this goofy idea of yours, and salvage things.”
“If it’s so goofy, why do you care?” I asked.
Randi sighed. “I’m in college, you dufus,” she said. “I know how hard that is, and how unlikely it is to distinguish yourself from the thousands of other people just like you.” She reached out her hand and helped me stand up. “And I know I’m never going to be special, like you are.”
“I’m not special,” I muttered.
“Yes you are, and you know that,” she said firmly. “I’ve known for years that you’re going someplace ... someplace important. You’re going to be important some day. Can you blame a girl for wanting to have a little piece of that? ... for wanting to be involved with something that helps her genius brother explore his potential?”
“Really?” I was astonished. Randi had never said “Boo” to me about things like this before. I thought she spent most of her time ignoring me, and the rest of it not thinking about me.
“Mom is resting,” she said. “Why don’t you explain your idea to me, and we can talk about it, and maybe come up with something that won’t shock the pants off her so much.”
She patted the bed, beside where I was standing.
“I can’t promise anything,” she said. “It may be a stupid idea ... but I doubt it. You don’t come up with all that many stupid ideas. You never have.”
Randi was a Chemistry major, and I respected her for that. I knew she worked hard, and carried a killer load of classes. She didn’t have time for anything else, except the confabs we had on Friday nights. That was about the only time she took for herself. She didn’t date, but then, after what happened with her almost-marriage, and the academic load she was carrying, that wasn’t so strange.
Which is how I ended up telling my older sister all about all the things I’d thought about, and my theory that bigger breasts had to have something to do with either evolution, or lifestyle.
She listened patiently, and asked a few questions. When I got to the part where I explained how impossible it would be for a sixteen year old boy to amass a quantity of the right kind of pictures, and how I had noticed that, within my own genetic pool, there existed a wide variety of breast sizes, she smiled, but it wasn’t a mean smile.
“So you’ve been checking us out,” she said.
“Only for scientific purposes,” I blushed.
“Yeah ... right,” she said, still smiling.
“Mostly,” I whined.
“At least you’re honest about it,” she said. The smile faded a bit.
“I didn’t explain it very well to Mom, I guess,” I said.
“I don’t know how you could, when she’s going ballistic,” said my older sister.
“So it really is a stupid idea,” I suggested, to save her from having to do it.
“I don’t know,” she said, tilting her head a little. “Actually, I find the whole question very interesting. I don’t know if this is a valid way to answer it or not, but it is intriguing. I do know that, despite what men say, breast size is important. I used to just be mad about that, but the way you put it makes me think I might have been a little hasty.”
“Why would you be mad about it?” I asked.
She snorted. “To some men, all I am is a pair of breasts. And men make judgments about women based on their breasts. That isn’t fair. A woman can’t do anything about what her breasts look like, and that makes it very unfair to judge her based on that.”
“You’re wrong,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow at me.
“What I mean is that it happens for a reason. There has to be a reason why some men think small breasts are better, and some men think big ones are better. And, whatever that reason is, wouldn’t you want to know? I mean that could make a huge difference in how you interact with men ... couldn’t it?”
“I don’t see how,” she said. “They either like my breasts, or they don’t. They either see my breasts, or they see me. I, personally, would prefer that they see me, and not my breasts.”
“But that’s not realistic,” I said. “Men do pay attention to breasts.”
For some reason I looked at hers. I kind of liked hers.
“Yes ... they do ... don’t they,” she said, her voice wry. I looked up to find I had just been caught staring at her breasts. “Why do I feel so naked all of a sudden?” she asked.
“Maybe because you’re not wearing a bra?” I suggested. “And because all you have on is a T shirt and panties?”
She actually blushed. “I suppose we are a little ... relaxed ... around you.”
“And Danny too,” I reminded her.
“That’s different,” she said. “Danny is safe.”
“I’m not?” I asked.
“Not when you look at me like you just were,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“It means you looked at me like a man ... and not my little brother,” she said.
“Well, you are a woman,” I said, defending myself, “and not just my big sister.”
She looked at me, her gaze level. She was still a little pink around her neck.
“I can’t help but think that part of your ... plan ... is to get to see my breasts ... our breasts ... naked,” she said.
“Well of course!” I said, frustrated. “How else can I get photographs for the project?”
“I meant you wanted to see them as a man, and not as a ... researcher.” Her face looked a little pinched.
I thought about that. She had given me a break. She had listened to my idea, and hadn’t laughed outright at it. She was actually willing to discuss it on a scholastic basis. I at least owed her the truth.
“Okay,” I said softly. “I admit it. You’re all babes, even Mom. Any guy would love to see you naked. There! Does that make you happy?”
She blushed again. “It shouldn’t,” she said softly. She looked me up and down. No woman had ever looked me up and down quite like that. I felt like I was being examined and evaluated to determine whether or not I was fit to be called a man. “But, in an odd, kinky kind of way ... it does.”
I know I must have looked like I was having a heart attack, because she laughed. Then she fanned her face with one hand.
“I’m going to have to keep an eye on you, little brother,” she said, giggling. “When you get to college full time, you’re going to be dangerous!”
She got up and left then. I watched her buttocks rise and fall as she walked to the door. She looked over her shoulder, to catch me again, and paused.
“Why on Earth it makes me feel so good when my own little brother looks at me like that is beyond me,” she sighed. “Don’t you do that to Tabby. You’ll scare her spitless.”
Then she was gone, and I was left wondering what, exactly, had just happened. My attention was suddenly drawn to a part of my body that, an hour earlier, I was afraid might be removed by my mother, perhaps with a rusty knife. I stared at my own underwear.
I may have forgotten to tell you. While my sisters, mother and aunts all ran around in panties, it wasn’t unusual for me to run around in my jockey shorts too. It was all a part of the cultural sub-set that was our little family. We were relaxed around each other, and had been for as long as I could remember. Modesty just wasn’t an important part of our sub-set’s value set.
I looked down at my jockeys. The bulge was unmistakable. My dick was hard as a rock. I had no idea how long it had been like that, but I had been standing in front of Randi for at least five minutes, while she sat on the bed. It had to have been there when she turned around, just before she left, and warned me about scaring Tabby.
I’d gotten a hardon for my own sister ... and she knew it.
I slipped out of the house a little later, and didn’t go back until suppertime. My Mom was at the stove again. This time she had on slacks and a blouse. Tabby was already seated at the table, which was already set. Randi was in the den, studying, as usual.
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