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Friday, November 12, 2010

Ch 2: We Shall Overcome

I flicked the switch, did a little dance as I hiked up the nightshirt, and sat on the pot. Whew, I had a lot of pee to get rid of…
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. “What’s up with the door slam, JoJo?” JoJo? Hmm, I must still be dreaming, because:
1)      I’m getting called “JoJo”;
2)      Someone’s using what sounds like a higher-pitched version of my own voice …or maybe younger…to do it;
3)       The whole “I’m a girl” thing.
Putting on my best nonchalant voice, I explained, “Sorry, I just woke up and really had to pee. Nothing to see here…”, then I giggled. I covered my mouth with both hands; that giggle was definitely a hysterical one. «Why wasn’t I waking up, wasn’t getting questioned by someone with your own voice shock-you-awake weird enough? »
I hoped I didn’t wake up in a puddle from peeing in my sleep; maybe I’m sleep-peeing, while I’m at it. I tried to remember if I’d “tucked” myself to pee “hands-free” while sitting down, somewhat hesitant to check it directly…okay, no “tally whacker” there, but plenty of pee. I grabbed some toilet paper with my other hand, to wipe off my now damp hand, in addition to my finally-drained “nethers”. Then a couple more knocks and a girl’s voice saying “Coming in” changed up the equation.
The door opened, and while I got a two-second glance at what looked like a maybe thirteen-year-old version of…normal me…at the door, a huge Amazon of a girl walked in. I could tell she was big—and that I was not—because when I stood up, not bothering to flush, I noticed that I was about an inch or so shorter than the boy-who-looked-almost-like-I-did-five-years-ago, and the both of us were at least four inches shorter than this other girl. She almost didn’t even look like a girl; not just because she was so tall, but because she had the muscles and curves to match the height.
“Cool, you can remind her about taking you to practice yourself, L.L.,” the boy said, yawning. “I’m gonna get some more sleep, maybe pee later when it isn’t so noisy out here…nice to have you home, JoJo, even if college didn’t teach you how to close a door right.” He turned around and plodded back his room, apparently the left of the three open bedroom doors. Being delayed a couple of seconds letting “L.L.” by me to use the pot as well, I only caught a glimpse of a poster of a robot/plane thing on the wall next to the window, and some bunch of clothes scattered on the floor, before he quickly, but quietly, closed his door.
 I remembered that room more as “the room that we kept our books and old magazines in, that was supposed to one day be Dad’s den,” but obviously it wasn’t that, now. I gave a little head shake, and thought to myself, «Well, three bedrooms for three kids, that makes a lot more sense than just one kid, but still…»
Centered  and roughly four-and-a-half feet up on the door, was a hand-sized ceramic tile, with “B-4” printed, or rather painted, in four-inch high blue letters. I could see what looked like similar tiles on the other bedroom doors, but using pink letters instead of blue. Sure enough, mine said “JoJo”; I couldn’t see L.L.’s, though—convenient that I didn’t have to —but, I figured that it was just part of the dream. The peeing part bothered me, but everything else seemed too unreal; between peeing in a dream and feeling an empty bladder, and being a girl, I’ll take the dream-pee; waking up with soggy sheets isn’t impossible, and who knows, maybe I’ll need to pee later, and that’ll wake me.
As I stood in front of the sink-and-mirror to wash my hands, I went back to eyeballing the sullen girl, currently doing what I had, but doing it much more impressively in a pink tank top and a pair of blue panties, currently at her ankles. Her complexion was maybe a little darker than my “real” complexion. Her breasts were easily D’s, maybe even DD’s, and she had the shoulders and hips to make them look almost proportional. She was in phenomenal shape, sleek and powerful, without bulging – well, not any more than she ought to, I mean. Her face was almost exactly like Mom’s, but with a little of Dad’s length in it to keep her head from looking like a bowling ball on top of a tank. She wore her hair more like Mom does (did? I just now thought that maybe Mom and Dad’s looks might have changed, too…); wavy from relaxing treatment, long enough to frame her face, but not so long that it would take too much time to take care of, like it was as long as she could have it, without interfering with her sports stuff. Wondering what kind of practice she had, I thought about checking out her room…but of course I didn’t have my contacts in.
Suppressing a yawn myself, I wiped my hands, and prompted, “Practice?”
 “Yeah,” L.L. explained, as she finished, and flushed. “It’s choir and cross-country today, so I’ll be giving my lungs a good workout.” I stepped back to let her wash her hands if she wanted; instead, she just stood on the far side of the sink. Fascinated by having a sister— a beautiful and athletic sister, to boot— I just moved back to the sink, and leaned across the corner towards her. She got a funny look on her face and leaned back into the toilet tank.
I asked “What’s wrong?” Simultaneously, she asked, “What’s wrong with you?” Figuring it was because I was crowding her, I answered, “I can’t see, I don’t have my contacts in yet.”
“So why are you grinning at me like you want to bite me?”
I reached up and felt my face; yep, I was grinning like a loon. I can’t help it; I’m definitely one of those “wear your heart on your sleeve” types. I’d be a horrible poker player, if I ever tried it, I’m sure. Right now, I was so proud of this sister of mine, I could contain it. I didn’t want to bite her, but I sure wouldn’t mind kissing her so much she needed a towel. It seems that I was not acting as nonchalantly about her accomplishments as she was used to. That’s too bad, because until I could see how much of a pain I was to her, or her to me, I wanted to be her best friend…a sister!
 «Maybe that’s why I was a girl, ‘cause I’d always wanted a sister; my “imaginary friend” was a girl, and even when I wasn’t trying to be romantic, I liked hanging around them, even from an early age because I really like girls and always have. I like doing things with guys too, of course, but it’s more because whatever we’re doing is fun; girls are fun all by themselves. I’ve wondered what I’d look like as a girl, and now I’d find out. I also wondered if my tastes would change because I was one. I sure hoped it wouldn’t change so much that I didn’t appreciate my sister, though. »
I reached out and grabbed her right hand in both of mine. We were both shaking, but I was just excited while she was either scared of me or really angry. Her expression didn’t help, but I don’t think I cared. I tried to pull her hand to me, but just wound up pulling myself closer to her. “Have I told you how proud of you I am?”
“What are you playing at, JoJo? You’ve never been ‘proud of me’ and you know it!” L.L. seethed. Well, that remark wiped that grin off my face, replacing it with horror. “You can’t really think that, can you?” This was ridiculous; I think my dream-me was kind of a bitch…not impossible, but not nice to know. “No,” I protested, “Come here….” Feeling like a child, I reached up and put my palm on her cheek, which she flinched at and shrugged off. I kept at it and put my hand behind her head, snaked my other arm behind her waist, and hugged her. She stiffened at first, and for a moment it felt like she was going to just physically rip me off of her, but I held on, saying nothing, just hugging. After a few seconds, she stopped bristling; a little more time and she sagged, and hugged me back. Gingerly, at first, but the longer I held her, she figured I was asking for a real hug, and gave me one back, hard.  I think if it weren’t for her huge breasts, she could have broken some ribs. It was the best hug I’ve ever had. 

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