Lake Taboo Page 2

  "Don't listen to her," he said. "She's just angry."

  I shrugged off his arm and got out of my chair, moving away from him. "Don't," I said, voice cracking, on the verge of tears. Brandon and Rachel were arguing loudly in the tent.

  I turned and went to my own tent and zipped the flap shut.

  "We should go."

  My brother Brandon poked at the fire with a stick, nudging a branch that had fallen aside back into the flames. He was having trouble getting it to go where he wanted it to; it kept rolling back down to the side of the pit. His constant jabbing kicked up ashes that got caught in the updraft and blew back in our faces.

  "You don't really want to go, do you?" I said, waving the ashes away with my hand.

  The others had left, taking their tents and the chairs with them. I was sitting beside him on the log, watching the little stream that bordered the camp froth and bubble as it rippled over a narrow band of rocks into the lake.

  Had it only been a couple of hours since the six of us had been splashing around in the cool depths of the lake trying to escape the blazing summer sun? The surface of the lake was dark and still now and the sun was sliding lower down the horizon. It was amazing how quickly things could change.

  "Well, we can't really stay here, can we?" said Brandon. "Just the two of us?" He set down the stick and retrieved his beer from the little rock he used as a table and took a swig.

  I shrugged. "Why not?" I said, nibbling the skin off a blackened marshmallow impaled on the end of a coat hanger.

  "I don't know. It's weird. It's too quiet. I'm used to having other people around." He looked up at the sky, squinting a little. Brandon had wonderful, long, dark eyelashes, a notably pretty feature for someone who was otherwise remarkably masculine. A light dusting of dark stubble was making its appearance on his strong, angular jaw. Sometimes I couldn’t believe how much he looked like our father.

  I looked up, too. The sky was taking on a richer shade of blue, signaling the onset of dusk. If we left now, we could be back in town by midnight. The thought of bouncing along those narrow dirt roads in the gloom beneath the closely grown overhanging trees had the feel of an adventure about it, but I didn't particularly want to leave. I wanted to be here, sitting beside my brother, inhaling wood smoke, drinking, and eating marshmallows. I took a long gulp from my cooler, feeling the warmth of the vodka in my throat and my chest.

  "What are we going to do?" he said, glancing at me and then looking away, toward the lake.

  "Well, we could talk. We hardly ever talk anymore. We used to talk all the time when we were kids."

  Brandon didn't say anything. The leaves of the trees rustled softly, making me drowsy. The hot dogs I'd eaten earlier were digesting slowly, contributing to my torpor. I picked up a fallen leaf, still mostly green, and twirled it between my fingers. Somewhere nearby a bird made a short, stuttering call.

  I wish I knew more about nature, I thought. I bet Brandon could identify what kind of bird that was if I asked. He was good at that kind of thing. Something he'd inherited from our father. Mom was useless when it came to camping. She couldn't build a fire or pitch a tent. About the only thing she was good at was lying on a blanket and tanning. I prided myself on being more like Brandon than my mother, which was silly, because I was adopted. I shouldn't have been much like either of them.

  Brandon picked up another branch from the small pile beside the fire and tossed it in. The breeze blew a puff of smoke in his face and he waved it away, squinting. I’d always loved the little furrows he got when he frowned.

  "Do you want to talk about Rachel?" I said, knowing he would never raise the subject himself. Brandon had become more taciturn over the years, more like our dad. When we were kids, he never seemed to shut up, but now that we were all grown up I missed the boasting, the teasing, the arguments.

  Brandon shrugged. "What's to talk about? You heard what she said. It's over."

  The dejection in his voice was unbearable. I was sad for my brother, but at the same time I felt relieved. I knew he'd been thinking about proposing to her, but I'd never liked Rachel and would have hated having her for a sister-in-law. She had a sour personality, an overly critical approach to things that she whitewashed as 'having high standards' and her constant demands and unrealistic expectations made Brandon morose. He was an optimistic person by nature, but nothing he did was ever good enough for her.

  "Doesn't that make you feel anything?" I said. "You're allowed to have opinions, you know. At least now you are." I added the last bit as a joke, but it fell flat.

  "Of course it makes me feel something," he said, sounding a little cross. "But there's nothing I can do about it. She dumped me. That's it. It's over." He took another sip of his drink and stared into the fire. We watched the sparks flare and then wink out of existence in silence.

  "She was being a bitch," I said finally, unable to bear the tension. "She had no right to treat you like that. Not in front of everybody else."

  Brandon took another swig of his drink, then he shrugged. "It is what it is. I should have minded my own business."

  "You stuck up for Matt because Cassie was being a bitch."

  "And Rachel stuck up for Cassie."

  "Well, us bitches have to stick together."

  Brandon, who hadn't been expecting the sudden twist, laughed out loud. He was smiling now, but his blue eyes were shiny. I could tell he was holding back tears. The moisture on his lashes made my heart ache; I wanted to reach out and grab him, wrap my arms around him, let him cry on my shoulder, but I knew none of that was going to happen. Brandon was too proud to break down in front of anyone, too much of a man to shed tears, even in private.

  We sat for a while in silence.

  I picked off the rest of the sticky marshmallow from the coat hanger, growing increasingly uncomfortable.

  "Seriously, Brandon. They were both being bitches. Those girls deserve each other."

  "They're friends. They've known each other since preschool."

  "That doesn't make it any better. We've known each other longer than that, but I sure as hell hope you’d call me on it if I started acting like a raging bitch in front of my friends."

  Brandon looked at me. He didn't say anything for several seconds and then nodded thoughtfully. "I would totally call you on it," he said.

  We looked at each other in silence and then giggled simultaneously. Something about the way he had said it struck us both as amusing.

  "Come on," I said. "I know you don't want to go home. You'll just end up moping around your room listening to shitty music."

  Brandon gave me an offended look. "Stacey. You're. Being. A. Bitch."

  I punched him as hard as I could in the shoulder. "Ugh. You're an ass."

  Brandon started to laugh and I had to fight not to laugh again myself. I swung at him again but this time he caught my wrist. I gasped in surprise and tried to pull free but he held on. Brandon seemed to be about a million times stronger than I was.

  Our eyes locked and for a second I felt like time had stopped. I could feel my pulse against the hardness of his fingers pressed against my wrist; the sensation made my arm tingle, and then the tingle ran along the underside of my arm into my breasts and then down lower, to the spot between my legs. The sensation frightened me; my heart was beating too fast.

  He let go and it was over, as abruptly as it had begun. I looked away, my cheeks flushing, my breathing rapid.

  What was that? my mind screamed at me. What the hell are you doing?

  I tried to disguise my embarrassment by taking another drink, but my head was beginning to feel light and floaty. I was starting to get drunk.

  Yeah, that's a great idea, I thought, glancing at Brandon, feeling on the verge of panic. Drink so much that you lose control. Who knows what could happen? My lady bits were still tingling, as if taking a perverse delight in my discomfort. Maybe staying here isn't such a good idea after all. I raised the bottle to my lips for another drink. It was like a compulsion.


  "Remember that time dad caught you peeing behind the garage?" Brandon said suddenly.

  His topic choice surprised me so much I banged my tooth against bottle. "Ow!" I said, wiping a dribble of cooler from my chin. "Oh my God! Why do you always bring that up?"

  "Because it's fucking hilarious," he said.

  "That was like fifteen years ago," I said, trying to shove him off the log. It was like trying to push a boulder.

  "And it never gets old," he said.

  "You're an asshole."

  "Hey, you're the one that wanted to talk."

  I tried to think of a comeback for that, but all that came out was a growl. I hit him again.

  He laughed. "Speaking of peeing," he said, "I need to take a piss." He set his empty bottle down on the ground and stood up.

  "I hate you," I said, picking up my bottle cap and tossing it at him.

  It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder and he chuckled, turning to walk toward the thick copse of trees behind the camp that served as our impromptu outhouse.

  The moment he was out of sight, I felt a strange impulse sweep over me. I grabbed my phone and switched it to camera mode, then I got up and ran as quietly as I could on my tiptoes into the copse after him. Brandon was facing away from me, his head tipped back, unleashing a steady stream of urine toward a tree. I could hear his piss pattering against the leaves of a bush and his deep sigh of relief. I hit record.

  "Bear!" I shouted.

  He turned sharply, visibly alarmed, spraying piss everywhere.

  I followed him around with the camera, capturing the absurdity of the moment forever, unable to suppress my laughter.

  "What the fuck are you doing?!" he shouted, shoving his junk back into his swimming trunks.

  "I'm blackmailing you," I said, stopping the recording. "If you ever so much as hint of talking about me peeing behind the garage again I'm going to email this to everyone I know."

  "You're crazy!" he said, fumbling with his draw strings. "And being a bitch, too, I might add."

  I hit play on the recording on my phone, compelled by the same irrational force that had driven me to take it, and a part of my brain registered the impressive size of his member.

  I knew it. I always knew it! my mind shouted, gloating. I felt my heart flutter.

  "Stop looking at it!" he yelled, striding over. His face was red, completely exasperated.

  I turned away and held the phone up over my head, trying to keep it out of his reach.

  He tackled me.

  I tripped and fell down face first in the dirt with an oomph sound as the air was squeezed out of my lungs. The phone slipped from my hand and rolled end over end through the grass.

  Brandon landed on top of me like a ton of bricks. His groin slammed hard against my buttocks and I felt a jolt of excitement arc through my body like lightning. Brandon struggled to raise himself up on his arms and the moment I was free I scrambled forward through the dirt and grass, reaching for my phone.

  He grabbed me by the ankles and jerked me back, dropping down on top of me. I felt an unusual pressure against my posterior this time, and thought for half a second that he had something hard in his pocket. And then I remembered that he was wearing swimming trunks and that he didn't have any pockets. A second wave of excitement scorched through me, making my pulse race into overdrive. I felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest.

  "Get off of me!" I said, struggling to free myself.

  He grabbed my wrists with his hands and pinned me to the ground.

  "Not until you promise to delete the video," he said.

  I could feel the lump in his swimming trunks getting larger. I wasn't even sure if Brandon knew it was happening, but this automatic physical reaction had a curious effect on me. The rational part of my brain told me that I should be disgusted, horrified, offended, but instead I found the sensation almost distressingly erotic. All of my attention fixated on this hard lump swelling between my posterior cheeks. I didn't want it to end, but at the same time, I was afraid that he would realize that I knew it was happening and doing nothing to stop it. I was afraid that he might think I was encouraging it and be disgusted by my complicity, that he might think I was some kind of pervert. I squealed, tried to roll over, to push him off, but all my wiggling only seemed to make him harder.

  "Promise," he said.

  "Promise not to talk about my peeing, first," I shouted.

  "No deal. This is about the video."

  "I only took it so you'd stop talking about my peeing."

  "Fine, then I guess we'll just have to stay here."

  The firmness of his erection was unmistakable now. I could feel it cradled between my buttocks, as stiff and hard as a tree branch. He must have known; how could he not? We both wanted it, both wanted to feast on this forbidden fruit, but neither of us could admit it. I tried to wriggle free a second time and almost groaned out loud when he pushed himself down harder against my body.

  Just put it in me already! my brain pleaded.

  The thought came out of nowhere. Unbidden. Unhelpful. Undeniable. In my imagination, he was already ripping down my shorts, thrusting it in.

  "Get off me," I said. "You're hurting me."

  I hated myself for ending it, but I couldn't trust myself to hesitate for one more second. If he didn't get up, if I didn't run away, now, this instant, I was going to have sex with my adopted brother.

  Brandon let go reluctantly and stood up. I rolled over onto my side and looked at him. The bulge at the front of his trunks was clear, unmistakable.

  "I'm sorry," he said, looking genuinely perplexed.

  I grabbed my phone and climbed to my feet, wiping the dirt from my chest and my knees. I had scrapes on the palms of my hands, my elbows, my thighs.

  "We can go home if you want," he said, looking away awkwardly toward the lake.

  "And listen to your shitty music? I'd rather kill myself."

  His head snapped around. He didn't know whether I was angry or teasing. I didn't know myself.

  "And by the way, I'm totally showing this video to all of my friends," I said, holding up my phone for him to see. The words slipped through my lips impulsively, before I even knew what I was saying.

  He lunged at me but I sprang away with a squeal, dashing toward the camp.

  I dodged the fire pit and scrambled into the tent but before I could zip it shut he was there, right behind me.

  I shrieked in alarm. For some reason, I hadn't expected him to follow me inside, as if the flap of the tent would provide some sort of magic barrier and keep him at bay. He grabbed both of my wrists and his momentum made both of us lose our balance and we fell a second time, this time, facing each other.

  My back hit the ground hard and Brandon landed on top of me again, between my spread legs. The sudden, violent pressure of his erection against my vulva shocked me and I felt a blaze of arousal burn through the pain. For half a second, I thought I'd peed my pants, but it was only the intensity of my excitement. The downy sleeping bag had helped to cushion the fall, but I knew I'd have bruises on my back. By the time the day was over, I'd look like I'd been in a fight, but in the heat of the moment, I barely noticed the pain. Everything was filled with Brandon's presence: his weight, bearing down on my body, warming the space between my legs; the strength of his fingers as they tightened around my wrists; the smell of his sweat and sun screen and bug spray wafting from his skin; his tanned face, twisted into an expression somewhere between excitement, apprehension, and exasperation; his rapid, heavy breathing from having to run to catch me. He leaned into me, his face perhaps a foot or two above mine, his lips curled slightly, exposing his even white teeth in an ecstatic smile. His eyes were bright, moving quickly over my face and there was a light patina of perspiration on his brow and upper lip. I tried to raise my arms, to push him up, but I might as well have been trying to lift a mountain. I still had the phone tightly gripped in my hand.

  "Delete the video," he said, squeezing my
wrists.

  My heart was beating crazily in my chest, pumping blood to my limbs with unusual intensity. My crotch felt hot, swampy. It was too much excitement.

  He's your brother, I thought. You're not allowed to feel this way about your brother. If he doesn't get off you there's no telling what you'll do. You won't be able to control yourself.

  I hadn't had sex in weeks, but it suddenly felt like it had been years, decades, centuries.

  There's no one around for miles. We're alone. Just the two of us. No one will ever know. It will be your own little secret. A momentary indiscretion. An accident. An error of judgment. A momentary weakness. You were drunk. And, oh God, you want to feel him inside of you.

  I stared at his face, so beautiful above me, inhaled the musky perfume of his skin.

  But you can't. He's your brother. It's wrong. It's shameful. Disgusting. Perverted. You're not allowed to take your brother's cock into your mouth, to suck him off while he groans and sighs with excitement, not allowed to feel it press tight against the sensitive ring of your cunt as he forces it inside of you. Not allowed to let his thick cock stretch you out, fill you up, pump in and out and in and out, over and over, until you cum and you cum and you cum and then finally he gasps and trembles and shoots all his sperm inside of you. Because that's what will happen. He will cum inside of you. He'll put his penis in your vagina and fill you full of his semen and there's nothing you can do about it.

  My mind was racing, rambling, shooting in a million directions at once, but every direction led back to my brother's penis, the sight, the smell, the taste, the feel of it. I wanted it so bad it felt like a physical pain, like a bullet in my belly that had to be extracted. I was pinned, helpless, defenseless, at the mercy of my brother's body, his strong, masculine, hard, virile, sexy body pressing down on top of me.

  All of these thoughts, feelings, impressions, arguments for and against, flitted through my mind in the span of a heartbeat. When I finally opened my mouth, I felt my decision snatched from me, co-opted by two simple words which seemed to come out of nowhere, out of some childish interaction I had had with my brother a thousand times before and which had surfaced as if by instinct: