Rachel thinks her brother deserves a pretty lover with a sweet ashole and pussy. But who?
Enjoy reading…
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Most beautiful people, movie stars and models, they have those classic good looks, you know? They have the symmetrical features, the flawless skin, and the perfect proportions. Good genes, mostly. People born to beauty from beauty. But sometimes you run into someone who is sort of… strikingly beautiful in a way that’s hard to define. Maybe you see a woman and her eyebrows are a little too thick, her nose a little too narrow, her eyes a little misaligned, her mouth a little large. And each and every one of those imperfect features, on their own, simply don’t work. But for some reason, when they all come together… they are attractive in a way that is hard to explain. It is just a sort of accident of nature, beauty out of chaos.
I fall into the latter camp. I swear, I am not bragging. I promised myself when I started this story that I would be objective about what I was talking about, and none of this makes sense if I don’t explain it all. And I honestly don’t take any pride in my “good” appearance. I didn’t do anything to get it. But I know it is there. People have told me my entire life that I am beautiful. But I have always known it wasn’t that “classic” kind of beauty. I have those somewhat bushy, dark eyebrows. My nose is that long and narrow one. I have that right eye that is ever so slightly higher than my left. And I’ve got that mouth that tries to stretch out to my ears when I smile (and those ears are kind of big too). On top of all that, I am short but somehow still willowy, with small breasts, gentle hips, a small butt, and slender legs. My features shouldn’t work, but somehow, together, they do. Those are facts, not ego.
Maybe you’ve wondered, when you’ve seen a person like me, “how does that happen?” Or maybe you haven’t bothered. But the thing is, I can tell you: My parents both have strange features. I have my mother’s eyebrows and her build. I have my father’s nose and ears. I am a hodgepodge of my parent’s strange features. And neither of my parents is what anyone would call “ugly.” But it’s like their features are slightly off. Like they only make sense when they come together on my face and in my body. My mother has said something to that effect for my entire life. I don’t so much have “good genes” as perfectly balance genes.
And that sort of leads us to a discussion of my little brother, Ben. If my features all came together just right, my brother’s came together… just wrong. Like I said, I am trying to be objective. My parents might look a little off, but my brother, I hate to say it, but he is just an ugly guy. He has my father’s large head sitting on my mother’s slender neck . He had my father’s heavily lidded eyes and my mother’s small mouth. He has my mother’s short, slender built (he is only two inches taller than me, and I am 5’2). He has a sort of narrow chest, but a bit of a gut. His hairline was already receding, even though he was only 18. He has scrawny legs and knobby knees. When we stand next to one another, you can tell we are related, but for some reason it just doesn’t work for him.
I never really noticed it when we were kids. Some of that, I guess, is that you just don’t pay attention that kind of stuff when you’re a kid. And he was four years younger than me, I never paid attention. And some of it, I think, was that it got worse as he aged. I mean all kids are cute in some ways. But as his features developed, it just got to be worse.
I honestly didn’t even notice it then. It was my senior year of high school when I realized it. And I only realized it because my new boyfriend (at the time), came right out and said it. We had been walking home from school together (I only lived a couple blocks away). And my brother, a freshman, was walking a little way behind us. As other kids peeled off down side streets, soon it was only me, my brother, and my new boyfriend.
“Oh man, look, Lollipop is following us!” my boyfriend said. I looked behind us, seeing only my brother, didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Who?” I asked, innocently.
“Lollipop!” my boyfriend said incredulously. He looked at me, saw the blank stare remained, and laughed, “Come on Rachel, that kid… Ben. He’s Lollipop.” I laughed a little, wondering what the story was that had earned my brother that nickname.
“Why is he called Lollipop?” I asked.
“You’ve really never heard that?” my boyfriend asked. I shook my head, “Look at that boy’s gigantic head and his scrawny body! He looks like… you know, like a tootsie roll pop.” I turned and slapped him playfully on the arm. Guys were always giving each a hard time. “What?!
“Don’t tease my brother!” I said. Now my boyfriend guffawed.
“Your brother? Come on,” my boyfriend said, incredulous again.
“What?”
“You’re Lollipop’s sister? I won’t tease him, but don’t have to lie,” my boyfriend responded. Now I was starting to get confused. What did that mean?
“I am Rachel Merten. He is Ben Merten, my little brother. It’s not that big of a school, you know that,” I said, “What’s the game here?”
“I have honestly never heard his last name. I have only ever referred to him as something other than ‘Lollipop’ like twice,” he said. Everyone called my brother some sort of mean nickname?
“Well he is my brother, so be nice,” I said, my protective instincts kicking in for the first time in my life. Something about this didn’t feel like a friendly teasing.
“I honestly can hardly believe that you are related,” he said as we kept walking.
“Why?” I said, looking back again at Ben and seeing his familiar features. Just like my parents. Kind of like me, or so it seemed at the time.
“Come on Rachel. You are like… the hottest girl in school. Lollip… Ben, looks like… Bizarre,” he said, and once again I slapped him, less playfully this time. Now I was practically walking backwards, looking at Ben and sort of… seeing him for the first time. I no longer looked at him like my brother, but like a boy… And I saw what my boyfriend was talking about. Ben was a little… strange. He seemed to sense me looking at him, his eyes flickered up and he smiled. I smiled back anxiously and then turned away.
“Hey, no offense. I didn’t know…” my boyfriend started, sensing how uncomfortable I was. I turned and pushed him away slightly.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I spat at him. I crossed my arms in front of my breasts and started walking quickly towards my house. My boyfriend rushed a little to catch up, “Why don’t you walk to your house, and I will walk to mine.” I said, picking up the pace. The boy pleaded for a block or so, then he got angry and said something I don’t remember. And he stalked off.
I guess I wasn’t really fair to him. I mean, I’d teased people before. I was a kid once. And I’d teased Ben before, though not about his looks. He didn’t know he was mocking my family and he hadn’t said anything that bad. But still, I found myself furious, walking to my house. I was just running my brother’s appearance through my mind. And the way other people reacted to his appearance. I kept getting angrier and angrier, but I couldn’t really explain to myself then why.
I found myself stewing that night and couldn’t really explain it. I didn’t call my boyfriend (in fact, I never called him again. That was it) and I never talked to my brother about it. Or anyone else. It got worse when I went back to school. Now that I was primed to look for it, I noticed the way that people treated my brother. I don’t want to give the impression that he was a heavily bullied kid or that he didn’t have any friends. He had close friends. And he wasn’t even really unpopular or anything. Everyone talked to him. He had a reputation for being a fun guy. And people teased him more than bullied him. But even teasing without malice from your friends can still build up. And girls didn’t really seem to give Ben the time of day. I could sense that too. I could feel it building now, even if Ben didn’t seem to react to it.