NB: This story contains themes of consensual incestuous sex and relationships and All characters indulging in sexual encounters are over 18.
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Tyler learns something about his kid sister, Georgy.
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It began, as most life-changing events do, completely out of the blue, late one Saturday night. I was working alone in my project house, and I was only there because the weather was expected to turn rainy and damp in a few days, so I had to rush on getting some plastering and rendering work finished before that happened. I was renovating my house, a Regency property I’d bought for a song after I’d left the army, to prove to myself and others I didn’t need the family’s money to get by. It needed an absolute shit-load of renovation and rectification before it could be considered fit to be condemned, but I’d persisted, so the local council had decided if I was daft enough to throw my money at that wreck, who were they to argue, withdrawn their Compulsory Purchase Order, and given me a year to bring it up to a habitable, or at least not actually unsafe, standard. After that I could think about finding a buyer
They put me under starters-orders, because I knew if I hadn’t met their deadline and shown a massive improvement in the place by that date, the CPO would go back in, they’d declare the building structurally unsafe, demolish it, and put the site up for redevelopment offer. So I worked like slave every possible moment I could spare, working my way through every aspect of the renovation, and bringing in experts to do the things that were beyond me, like joists and floorboards, framing and shuttering carpentry, plastering, stonework renovation, roofing, electrical, gas, water, and sewerage.
One of the main reasons the local council had balked at renovating the place was that it was a Grade 2 Listed structure, meaning it could be regarded as being of historical or architectural interest, and they didn’t want the headache of having that kind of expensive white elephant on their hands.
In England, a Listed building is protected by law from being changed in any material way from the original construction, as it’s deemed to be of significant historic, cultural, or architectural importance. Any external renovations have to be carried out sympathetically exactly as the original builder would have completed them, using the same materials and construction methods, and with absolutely no structural changes other than those that maintained the continued safe use of the building.
These restrictions meant potential commercial (and some private) developers were saddled with these caveats, which usually scared them away. On the other hand, if it had just conveniently fallen down, they could redevelop the site with a clear conscience.
Silly me, coming along and falling in love with the faded grandeur of the place and put a spanner in their works, hence the one-year deadline to get it right, or get out. Hopefully, once it was fully restored back to its original splendour, with no further work required, a buyer would appear who wanted the cachet/snob value of living in an elegant historic building.
I was in the back room, happily getting ready to mix-up a new batch of lime-putty render with the radio keeping me company, when I realised that tapping sound I was hearing wasn’t coming from the paint and plaster-splashed site-radio; someone was knocking on the door at, I looked at my watch, three in the morning. WTF? I had no near neighbours, there were no shops or all-night eateries out this way, no-one had any reason to be around and about out here at this time of night, so I debated whether or not to answer the knock, decided I’d go see who it was, and took a handy pry bar along for company.
Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to see my younger sister Georgina standing there, looking more than a little tear-stained and dishevelled. As I pulled her into the light, my eyes narrowed at the bruise purpling her left cheekbone, and the visible split in her swollen lower lip. Georgy is a tall, pretty, lively girl, with huge, dove-grey eyes and long, natural, movie-star lashes, and masses of jet-black hair in a curly cascade of soft ringlets around her shoulders, and loud and fun-loving. I automatically find myself using the word ‘vivacious’, which is a bit Fifties-movie magazine when you think about it, but I never came up with a better word when I think of her, but now she looked like she had been crying.
“Georgy, what… who…?” I stuttered, staring at her injured face.
“Max, that… creepy fucker, he tried it on me, Mum was passed-out on the couch, that pudgy fuck was still drinking when I got in, next thing I know he’s got his arm around me and trying to kiss me, all that ‘your mother won’t ever know, it’ll be our secret, try it, it’ll be fun’ creeper bullshit; Christ, he’s a repulsive little shit, he wouldn’t stop pawing at me, so I gave him the knee, next thing I know, he’s lashing out at me. Will, I think he’s been hitting Mum, too; she looked… different, too much concealer, he’s acting like the house, all our things, the cars, they’re his, he’s lording it over the place, Will, you’ve got to come home and sort him out, this is bad!”
Too fucking right this was bad; the day Mum introduced me to her new so-called business manager I got a bad vibe from the creepy little scrotum; he felt too much at home in my father’s house, MY house; he was making too free with my family’s wine cellar and cars. Mum seemed besotted by the little stain, but all I wanted to do was drag him out of the doors and shove my foot up his arse. But Mum seemed so happy to have the creepy little fuck there I held off; he actually seemed to have her best interests at heart, at least at first, at least she seemed to think so. The changes that moved him from employee to master of the household came so slowly, so subtly none of us were really aware of the pace of change.
I wasn’t really too concerned at first; Mum was a tough, hard-nosed product of her generation, trying to pull the wool over her eyes usually got your hand bitten off, so I wasn’t too worried, and she really seemed to like Max. She was still a handsome woman, maybe Max and she…? Creeped-out as I felt at the thought, she was a grown-up, well able to handle matters, if this was what it was, it was her choice, so I let sleeping dogs lie.
I was first alerted to the regime-change when the housekeeper, who was more than just an employee, she was a family member called me to let me know she’d been dismissed. I found that hard to understand, or even believe; Mrs. Kinnison, always known to Georgy and me as “Aunt Kay” had been Housekeeper since my father was a boy, she’d helped raise my father, and she was there to welcome her the day my father brought his new bride home, and helped raise me, too. When mother had lost my father Aunt Kay was her main support, and when mum had remarried when I was just a toddler, she’d welcomed her new husband, my step-dad, into the family.
She and Mum had been fast friends for nearly thirty years, so letting her go made no sense at all.
Now, apparently, Max had decided they didn’t need her, so she was gone, and I couldn’t understand how Mum could have allowed that: Aunt Kay was as devoted to Mum as she had been to my father and step-father, and an important part of the family, not just some random employee.
I’d braced Max about it, reminding him that he wasn’t the head of the household, he was an employee, just like the man who cleaned the gutters and shovelled up the shit in the stables, and if he didn’t like the staff, who’d been there since long before his flabby gut and ugly mug had mooched in the door, he was welcome to leave, there was the door, don’t let it hit him where God split him. He went crying to Mum, and she overrode me, while Max smirked at me.
I also really didn’t like the way he greased and smarmed his way around Georgy. She had only just left university, graduating from Roehampton with a good 2. 1 degree in Philosophy, Politics, and Economics just as I’d resigned my commission after serving four years with my regiment. She was living with a friend, taking a year out to breathe and party a little and enjoy being young before seeking work. It seemed Max was always around her when she went home, always ready to start conversations with her, touching her arm, her shoulder, placing his hand in the small of her back when he spoke with her, ‘charming’ her with his wit and worldliness, and it creeped her out.
I was seriously considering risking my mother’s ire and just pile-driving the bastard into the portico steps and hosing what was left of him down the stairs and into the gutter, but Georgy assured me she could handle a stunted fat creeper like him blindfolded.
At the same time, Mum’s drinking, never more than social, and certainly never noticeable before, suddenly seemed to be escalating; every time I spoke with her she seemed out of it, and when she’d start telling me about life at home, suddenly Max would be relieving her of the phone, and after a few curt words, he’d hang-up.
At first I thought Mum would deal with him her way; she was formidable in full flight, almost a force of nature, and people who crossed her very soon came to wish they’d shut up and stayed home that day.
Now she was almost invisible, a mere shadow of her former self; she seemed to be completely in thrall to that sidewinder. In fact, I’d just about decided to deal with that slimy tub of lard once and for all, and then came that late-night knock and my darling baby sister with bruises on her face, put there by that stunted dickwad.
As far as I was concerned, he wasn’t going to be hitting any more women, not after tonight.
Georgy looked at me, and grabbed my arm.
“No Will, it’s after three, deal with it in the morning, my face hurts, and I really don’t want to go back there right now…”
I gently took her hand off my arm.
“No, Georgy; strike while the iron’s hot, that’s what dad always told us; that bastard’s sitting there all fat and satisfied, stoking up on MY father’s vintage reserve scotch with not a care in the world, in MY house, doing God knows what to MY mum, I don’t fucking think so!”
Georgy stared at me for long seconds, then nodded.
“OK, let’s go, I want to see this!”