As we lay in our sweat, my softening cock slipping from her, Shari raised her head to look into my eyes, grinning as she spoke.
“So baby, how did you like your first Christmas?”
In answer to her question I slid my hands around her taut little backside and pulled her close against me.
“Thank you for making it so special for me!” I grinned, kissing her on the tip of her nose as my hands roamed over her, squeezing and stroking her, making her alternately gasp and giggle.
“Stop it, Bobby, I need a quick snooze after that, no, stop it!”
I grinned, and gave up on gently torturing her, Shari smiling back as she snuggled down against me.
“Wake me up in half an hour, okay, Bobby? Please? Don’t let me sleep Christmas Day away!”
“To hear is to obey, your wish is my command!” I whispered, pulling her closer and flipping a corner of the bed covers over her.
“My Bobby, love you baby!” she murmured drowsily.
I wasn’t in the least bit sleepy, just very relaxed, but I reset the alarm clock, just in case, and turned my attention to looking at my beautiful half-sister.
I was still a little puzzled at what exactly she saw in me, although eternally grateful she saw enough to stick around and do these kinds of things with me! No, I guess I still felt a little undeserving of her, my overwhelming sense of entitlement having finally way to perhaps just a hint of an inferiority complex. Yaz and Shari had never tried to hold my lack of experience of the real world over me, nor had they ever once been pitying or “understanding”; that would have been just as galling. No, they’d just showed me stuff, told me things, and left me to form my own conclusions about how the world worked.
Both my sisters believed I was an adult, and left me to it. It was working, although some things I saw or read about just made no sense, because I’d never been a part of the life around me. I had no friends, nor did I actually know how to make any. Conversation was another closed book; I could talk to Rick, Yaz or Shari, because I knew them, but I had no clue how to make that initial approach to someone new, to say “Hello, what’s your name, my name’s Bobby”. I think that was what made Shari saddest, that our father had handicapped us so thoroughly, making social pygmies of us by keeping us apart from the world, probably so we’d feel no connection to it when it came time to take over from him. Rick had managed to break that programming. I was still working my way through it, but with Shari’s help, I believed I was making some headway.
Thinking heavy thoughts like this, I must have dozed-off; the next thing I knew, the alarm was buzzing and Shari was lovely and warm and soft next to me, yawning prettily as she stretched. I was tempted to set the alarm for another 30 minutes and huddle down next to her; she was just so nice to cuddle up against on a deep mid-winter’s afternoon, and lunch was going to be at least another hour, so we could do this. I leaned over to reset the alarm, and Shari pushed it out of reach.
“Uh-uh, sleepyhead, Yaz and Ricky are working hard to make your first real Christmas special, don’t mess with that! Tell you what, though; I need a shower, you’re welcome to do my back if you want…?”
How could I resist…
Christmas lunch was superb. I’d never actually eaten turkey before; our father had never bought one, preferring much cheaper foodstuffs for us; we’d never celebrated Christmas, so I’d only ever seen a Christmas dinner in pictures, and my first one was almost overwhelming. Yaz and Rick had really gone all out to make our first Christmas as memorable as possible, and I was dazzled by all the different things there were to eat and enjoy.
Afterwards, we cleaned-up and retired to the family room to spend Christmas Day together, at the request of Yaz, who’d always treasured the time spent on this day with her mother and sister, and lately, Rick, too. We sat around discussing the things we’d do, with Nicky top of the agenda. It didn’t seem incongruous discussing him on this day of all days; Yaz and Shari seemed to have developed a real need to talk about their missing brother, where he was, what he was doing, his family now, what they were like, and how they’d feel if we suddenly turned-up looking for him.
The consensus was that he’d be shocked, but that he’d accept us, all of us. The letter, more than anything else, had convinced the girls that Nicky would be, if not pleased, at the very least intrigued to find out what had happened, and to meet his baby sisters. The day after December 26th, Rick and I were going to see a solicitor to get our passport applications notarised, then Shari and I were driving down to the Passport Office in Liverpool, and once we got our passports, we’d be sending them via courier to the American Embassy in London, to get our visas. Once that was done, we were going to Albany, to find our brother.
We had no choice but to go; Shari had drawn a blank with locating an agency of any sort that was actually interested in tracing our missing brother; virtually all the PI’s she’d found were only interested in doing background and security checks for corporate clients: they had no time or patience for our kind of search. Similarly, a trawl of the internet had proven equally fruitless. No-one by the name of Nicholas Davies was popping up, at least none of the right age, occupation, or ethnicity. As Shari had finally confessed to me one night, we couldn’t be sure he was even using the Davies surname; what if he was so filled with disgust and hatred for us and all we stood for that he’d dropped the name entirely? What if he was using his mother’s maiden name? We didn’t know what that was, so that put an end to our internet search.
Finally we agreed on one thing; the only way we’d ever find him was if we looked for him ourselves. We would have to go to Albany, visit every garage and car repair shop, show them his picture, and ask the question; does this man work here?
*
And now, all the preparations were over, and here I was, on a cold, late-January day, cooling my heels in the departure lounge at Birmingham International Airport, waiting for our flight to Albany. The girls were excited, but I don’t mind admitting, I was scared. It didn’t seem possible that the huge jet clearly visible through the panoramic windows of the Departures Lounge could actually get airborne, no matter how many times I’d seen it on TV; up close it just didn’t seem credible that such a huge mass of metal could even move at all, let alone leave the ground and fly, and the thought of being inside that thing worried me to the point where I was actually sweating. Shari noticed I wasn’t talking or joining in the conversation, and pulled me to one side.
“What’s wrong, baby?” she murmured, then her eyes followed my gaze to the monster jet just outside.
“Oh, flight jitters. Don’t worry, Bobby, I’ve been in one of those before; there’s nothing to worry about, I promise! I’ll even hold your hand, if you like…!”
I looked down at her cheeky grin, and I couldn’t help but grin back; her calm confidence more than anything else helped me to level-off a little. Both Shari and Yaz were wearing stretch jeans and stiletto-heeled ankle boots, and smart, military-cut box-jackets complete with epaulettes, and Balmain T-shirts underneath. They’d elected to travel with their fabulous long bronze hair unbound. With their beautiful features and sexy figures, they looked elegant and truly stunning; it was really no wonder more than one pair of eyes followed them around the lounge as we waited to board our flight. Watching the two of them helped to take my mind off things, but eventually I’d return to brooding about getting into that monster and hurtling down the runway at 300mph.
Just when I thought I’d go mad from the waiting, they called our flight. We lined up and filed down the boarding ramp and into the plane. We had adjoining seats, a block of four, so we didn’t have to worry about strangers clambering over us or falling asleep, drooling, or getting sick on us. It was a long-ish flight, over eight hours, so I’d brought a book along in case I couldn’t sleep; fat chance; I was so keyed-up that sleep or reading were the furthest things from my mind.
When the engines began gunning as the plane lined up on the runway, I heard Shari gasp. I looked at her, her face was twisted in pain, and I realised I was squeezing her hand so tightly it was hurting her. I apologised with my eyes; Shari grinned and patted me gently to show she understood, then Yaz, seated on the other side of me, slipped her arm through mine as well.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you too!” she grinned cheekily, her touch and warm humour relaxing me slightly. Now I had two gorgeous, exotic redheads huddled up against me, holding my hands and resting their heads on my shoulders; no wonder I was getting envious, resentful stares from some of the other passengers! I jumped when a dull thud sounded underneath us. I glanced questioningly at Shari, and she just smiled back.
“It’s okay, Bobby, it’s just the undercarriage coming up, no need to worry; we’re on our way, Baby, and relax, please, it’s safer than crossing the street, I promise you!”
*
We had an uneventful flight, the only jarring note being when we came in to land, as I once again nearly crushed Shari’s hand as I waited for the crash! Once we collected our baggage and cleared customs, we followed the signs for the exits and taxis. A man in a peaked cap asked us if we wanted a cab, and when we nodded, he beckoned over a bright yellow MPV-type vehicle with a modern black chequer-pattern on the sides. Rick handed him $5, and he smiled as he opened the cab door and saluted us in.
“Where to, please?” asked the cabbie.
“The Ramada Plaza Hotel, please,” replied Shari, leaning across me as she peered out of the window at the freeway rolling past, getting her first look at Albany.
The hotel was only a couple of miles from the airport, and I helped the hotel concierge team unload and separate our luggage while Rick paid and tipped the cabbie. Then we followed the luggage trolley up to our rooms. Rick and Yaz had the suite next to ours, with an interconnecting door. Our room was the largest, most luxurious room I’d ever seen, with an absolutely enormous bed, a gigantic flat-screen television, and a luxurious bathroom with a bathtub you could have swum laps in. Shari sat on the edge of the bed, then flopped back and stretched-out, smiling tiredly at the ceiling.