I was starting to wonder what kind of dream this was, and how cruel it would be to go back to being an only child. Maybe it was a bit of a pity-party thing, but…I love my sister, and I’m just learning that I wasn’t just a tease to her, I was mean. I hoped I got to change things, even if it were all a dream; I’m kind of standoffish, but I imagine I’m fun once you get to know me. I never thought of myself as being out-and-out mean. How weird was this, I want to beat up the mean girl that upset my little sister, except…not only am I now her big sister, not her big brother, but it turns out I’m the mean girl that upset my little sister.
“You know I’m just mean to you because I’m so jealous of you, right?”
“What are you talking about, JoJo? You’re everything Mom and Dad every wanted in a girl, and—“
“No, no, no, don’t make it about me; we’re talking about you here. Come here…” I let her go, and she did the same. I dropped a couple of inches to the floor, and I giggled. My little sister was so big, she picked me up when she hugged me, and she has an inferiority complex? Okay, as long as this lasts, my mission is to make this girl the sassiest, super-hot girl that she is. I “pulled” her around the sink so that we were both in front of the mirror. I had to lean way into it to see, until L.L. pushed me back, reached across me, to the far corner of the counter-top, got my contacts case, and put it in my hand
I grinned, side-hugged her, rinsed my hands and put in my contacts. Weird; I never remembered putting in contacts in my dreams before. This was turning out to be pretty intricate. I noticed that my case was a sunny yellow, and — a-ha! —L.L. had those fancy wear-‘em-a-week-at-a-time-for-astigmatism ones. You know, those ones for an “active lifestyle”, which seemed to be the definition of the girl. Anyway, now that I could see, I looked in the mirror, and was stunned.
I got why L.L. would have a complex being my sister; she was cute, but I was a hottie.
Okay, maybe I was a little biased where the topic was concerned, but I was seriously good-looking. Light golden-brown skin, oval-shaped face and medium-full lips. Nose still Negroid-flat, but small enough to be called “pert”, topaz eyes and black hair maybe two inches long, laying thick and flat on my head in half-inch ringlets. I looked kind of like a mix of my mom and dad, my dad’s sister “Aunt Ruth,” and a bit of my mom’s “Cousin Tina,” especially in the coloring. My breasts seemed big enough to fill a good C-cup bra; since I didn’t have one on, they were about the size of softballs in width, and maybe two inches in thickness on my chest. «Like little Eggo’s®, but without the waffle-pattern. How poetic; I might be the “smallest” woman in our family.» I looked at L.L. in the mirror…who was looking at me. I smiled, pushed myself up on the sink counter, and leaned my head on her shoulder. «OMG, I have Mom’s dimples; I am so cute, I’m dangerous.» As I was hopping down, I used the reflection from the mirror in the door well behind us to check out…our “assets”.
Leaning on the counter had let me see enough definition through the thick nightshirt, to show that my butt was all right; I had hips, and I am black, so I’m not a total pancake ass; L.L.’ s butt, though had started with great potential, and all that running she did hadn’t hurt it. «She must do a lot of sprinting and weight-training, too.» I could feel a little frown sprout on my face, as I could see that my body would’ve been fine for gymnastics, if I’d ever gotten into it, but L.L. probably did some kind of sports year-long just to keep all of that from going to fat…I sighed, saying, “God, your butt is great.” I’ve always been a butt-man, and apparently, I was at least a butt-girl. Suddenly, I giggled again; I think I figured out why JoJo was so mean to L.L.; her butt was fabulous, and the meaner JoJo got to her, the more L.L. worked out, making it a vicious circle, one whose resentment was really biting JoJo in the butt! I laughed at me being the “butt” of my own joke, and how “old-JoJo” had worked to encourage what bugged her most.
“…you like my butt?” L.L. said skeptically. I just looked at her in the mirror…and raised one eyebrow. «I didn’t know I could do that…I wonder if I have to pluck those eyebrows…» L.L. was giving me that “you’re being strange” look again…and I started smiling. «Heh-heh, you have no idea how “strange” you’re gonna think I am. And, I’ll make you like it, too! » “Yes, I like your butt, you’ve worked hard for it, and it shows. Of course, I don’t love it as much as all the boys do, but I know quality when I see it.” L.L. snorted and nudged me with her elbow; I had to put my hand on the wall to keep from whacking it from the force. I just grinned more at my super-strong sister.
“They just look at me because they know I’m your sister,” L.L. scoffed.
Now I snorted. “They just look at you because you’re stacked like a plate of pancakes.” I rolled my eyes. She got a glint in hers. “No, you’re the one with the pancake ass…”
I made my mouth gape open, as if I could be mad at her. It helped me not to look like I was still grinning from ear-to-ear. “You did not just call me a pancake-ass!” I gave L.L. a playful swat on her fanny. Well I tried; she and her crazy athlete’s body just swung those awesome hips right out of the way…and right back over to “bump” me. I gave her a semi-serious whack…ow! It was like spanking the counter top; that damn butt was all muscle, not fair, not fair!
“Is that as hard as those puny muscles can hit?” she taunted, then poked me in the ribs. I let out a sharp “Eep!”; it seems I was ticklish there. She poked me again, and I “Eep!”’ed again. I poked her ribs…nothing. I tried her stomach…rock-hard abs, but no ticklish spot. I squelched the spike of envy I felt as touched those abs; «She worked her butt off for…well, I guess she worked her butt out for those abs, really. So, where is she ticklish, where? » I tried her hip joints, and — bingo! I was back in the contest!
“Truce,” L.L. offered, after getting me on both sides of my ribs. I used my smaller frame to advantage, crouching down to keep my traitorous ribs away from her, while giving her hips a few last good pokes before generously accepting her offer: “…okay, truce.” Both crouching, fingers wiggling like gunslingers, we then stood up straight — a shorter one who shall remain nameless, trying to stand a little straighter —and hugged again, my arms beside her breasts, and temple on her cheek bone. I felt such love for this sister-I’d-never-had, I wondered if I’d ever wake up, and a big part of me hoped I never would.
A minute or two of quiet, calming hugging later, L.L. asked a totally out-of-the-blue question: “JoJo, are you okay?” I felt a twinge of something, like she meant her question literally, not just as a turn of phrase. Not sure what the significance was, I just ignored it and murmured towards her ear, “I’ve never felt better.”
She shifted subtly, moving her arms down to trap mine against her ribs, and laced her fingers together behind my back. I could barely touch her back muscles, and she could likely just physically muscle my arms farther in and stop even that much touch; I was trapped, deliberately, and it sounded like L.L. was about to be serious again. I started to feel a little uneasy; serious meant referring to how we’d used to be, and I didn’t know anything about how we’d “used to be”; from my perspective, there was no “used to be” because I’ve never been in this situation before today. Her breasts were weighed heavily on the top of my chest; they were D’s, but her pecs gave them extra “oomph”, which my smaller (of course!) ones lacked. Mine were even more “pancakey” than my derriere. “…or not.” I lamely finished.