4-4-1 Guys at a Bar Pt. 02

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“Guys at a Bar pt2,” part 1 of the “It was supposed to be about incest” arc.

Copyright CopperSkink (or Copper’s Kink; whatever turns you on), January Four, Two Thousand Ten.

All players eighteen and older.

Circa 2066 (subject to change depending on how well I organize my notes in the next several months), located in the (fictional) charming town of Rotterdale, North Carolina, halfway up the coast and about ten miles in on foot. Trust me, it’s very pretty.


I abhorred to leave the party so early after such a successful venture, but one look at me tre amici, and I thought of their wallets, and of the pictures within. With the taste of pussy still on my cock, I couldn’t help but think of Becky’s picture in my wallet with something written on the back to the tune of “Thanks, Derrick, that was the best night of my life,” with an imprint of her lips in the midnight purple lipstick she wore.

So off we went, she and I, off to the trolley that would convey us most of the way home once we walked to it, to be followed by another walk lasting a few blocks. She was tipsy, quite tipsy. I could have tried to ignore the smell coming off her, but with my hand on the small of her back guiding her steps, it was hard to avoid the reek of expensive beer and sex.

It should’ve bothered me that she was sexually active, but I didn’t let it; that was one of my angles of being “the good brother”. She didn’t concern me terribly through my life since she would be there with me, but I always liked her, and now I liked liked her. She felt free to tell me any dirty secrets she might have, but she rarely did.

She was babbling nonsense now and then to tell me she was on the verge of being drunk, but not enough to be serious trouble for “the old people in the house”. We snuck in through the side door, and I got her upstairs, and into her bed. I had to stop short of pulling her outer layer of clothes off, but she pulled me close for an appreciative (if chemically aided) kiss, which landed dangerously near my lips.

I got back to my own room next door as quickly as I could, but my heart was pounding out of my chest. I threw off my clothes and threw myself into my bed to deal with the raging erection that had been threatening to expose me to my sister on our walk.

Once my fingers were wrapped around my package, everything was gravy. The cute little girl tasting herself on my finger, then each of my friends’ sisters, and finally Becky, showing even pretend affection for me. I had only gotten off once that night, which made the party a technical failure; post-party fapping was something of a shame, but I couldn’t get my hand off myself.

Faster and faster I stroked, trying to cure myself of this disease brought on by infected women. Call it cooties; it’s all pretty much the same. It was hard to respect them, dressing like they do and then flirting with everyone in sight all night, but it was hard to tell your swollen cock that. All it wanted was for you to feed it as many of them as possible.

And right then, it wanted me to feed it my sister. She was just lying there in bed, hardly able to move from exertion and drink. She had even kissed me, if only just. With just that one sign that she even possibly wanted me, I squirted out far too much messy goodness to be allowed, and finally I could sleep. Sleep, and an early morning for stupid school.


Ahh… delicious beer after a boring day at school. And the night before, I got my rocks off pretty good with a chick who was dynamite in the sack, and she never got my number. Life be good. It sucks a little that she got my name, but she was good enough for a second try, if I gave second tries.


“So what, motherfucker?”

“Don’t give me that innocent look, dickwad, did you score?”

Ah, boys. They can be cute at times. It was almost a certainty that Bill didn’t get any at the party, the way he was bugging me. Sam, Sam doesn’t give a shit. He pretty much gets his whenever he wants it. As the story goes, his father taught him how. I’ve been considering taking lessons as soon as I got the cash together.

But Sam, he didn’t care whether we got ours. He got his, and he’d just smile down at us, who merely might have gotten laid. Dree almost never got his, and I was about as hopeful as Bill.

“What, that blond? It was alright,” I said coolly. No point in sounding too pleased with myself.

“Psh; everyone knows you fucked her,” Bill laughed. “I mean your sister.”

“Oh, yeah. I actually caught her upstairs with some idiot, but they ran out. I donno what she got up to after that.”

“Yeah, but you left with her, and she was pretty sauced.”

“She still had plenty of time, though I don’t think anyone followed her into her bed, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Bill’s face fell to the table and Sam had a good chuckle.

“What’re you looking so voluminous about?” Dree snapped at Sam.

Ooh, brave man. Sam wasn’t exactly prideful, but he didn’t exactly take much shit. Not much izmir escort bayan at all.

So I was surprised when he clammed up. Turned a few shades of red, too. Now Dree was Sam’s cousin of sorts, so he had mocking rights from getting all the dirty secrets from the family, and he was the one out of us who wasn’t scared to take a little stab to wound Sam’s pride. Sure, we’d make jokes that would threaten a man’s sexuality, but not his manliness. That was for the girls. If that wasn’t enough, Dree was like four years older than the rest of us. Not that that mattered; four years is huge when you’re in high school (try dating a fourteen-year-old when you’re eighteen. Shit doesn’t work), but it’s next to nothing when you’re twenty, twenty-one and in college. Becky, she brought home a thirty-five-year-old like eight minutes after she turned eighteen.

“I take it I missed something,” I said with giddy interest. Sam didn’t take much heat, and Dree didn’t speak up too often. Something was amiss, and I make it my vow to discover what.

“Miracle Man here, guess who he ran into.”

Having seen him take four times as much tail upstairs than anyone else that night, I wasn’t sure if it mattered who Sam had or hadn’t seen. Not even Sultry Sally would spend two seconds on him. Unless…

“No,” I stammered with growing amusement and a growing grin.

Sam raised a threatening eyebrow when I glanced at him, but my ears were all for the other two gentlemen at the table.

“Bill? Do this be true?”

“She shows up shaking in her heels,” Bill said, joining in on the fun, “spots him chilling with us, and comes charging over.”

Tiffany may be the most adorable little girl you’ve ever seen, but even cute numbers like her can have wicked streaks.

“Right up to the old poker game, eh?”

“Kweh,” Dree affirmed. “Started chewing him out, right then and there. I thought I was gonna lose my beer.”

“But you managed to keep it down; we even got another pint into you before the night was through,” Bill added helpfully, “though you lost that hand, if I recall.”

“So Tiffany,” Dree continued, “she’s all on about broken trust, how his nasty friends…”

“That’d be us, if you weren’t paying attention,” Bill added again.

“…Would go spilling to their little girlfriends, and all of a sudden everyone would know.”

“Didn’t stop her from yelling at him about it smack in the middle of a party, did it?”

“I wonder if anyone told her boyfriend.”

“Was he even there with her?”

“You know him; high school extra curricula and all that.”

“Uh huh. ‘extra’ curricula.”

“No, seriously. The guy’s a book-dwerb.”

“Poor guy. If only he knew.”

Sampson chose that moment to grunt a warning at anyone thinking about making implications about his sister.

“Sam, bro,” I said, still with humor written across my face, “you know that in my heart I think Tiff is a great girl, not slutty at all.” Calling a man’s sister a slut was just uncalled for. “And out of respect for you, I keep her hand out of my pants, but just so we’re clear, I don’t think she’s that much of a challenge.”

“Yeah, man,” Bill continued, ever-helpful, “without Sally on your list, I don’t think you’d qualify as having gone the distance.”

“She was there, too,” Dree interjected.

“Seriously? How’d that go down?” Now it was getting good, and I was started to get frazzled at my sister for pulling me out of what was turning out to be a pretty interesting pool party. After all, while Tiffany furious with her brother for leaking about their private endeavors was rather interesting, she wasn’t all that complicated. Never someone you could take seriously. Salamandy, on the other hand, had a brain; she just happened to love sex, wheres with Tiffany it was more accidental. What made it fun was that Salamandy doesn’t really like Sampson and she hates Tiffany.

“And the twins there as well, if I recall,” Bill mentioned.

“Dang, full house. Drivved, my man, you were saying?”

“Ah, yes,” Dree began, taking on airs of significance with the aid of the atmosphere and his frothy brew, “twas the fortnight of…”

“Ah, can it,” Sam blurted out, making the rest of us sputter with ill-concealed mirth. “Who was off with your sister, now that we’re on the subject?”

“Me?” I answered innocently, “I already mentioned, didn’t I?” True, it was nothing for me to cheer about, but I was good enough to play it off without taking too much flack away from the wounded Sampson.

The drinking done and the day with it, we cheered ourselves and each other one last time before retiring that Saturday to prepare for… you guessed it, another boring day of school. For me, at least. I haven’t got a fucking clue what the rest of them do Sunday morning.


Fuuuck, my neck gets tired awful fast. I honestly enjoy college classes after surviving the nightmare that was high school, but it seems I cannot escape my fate of continuing to warm an uncomfortable school desk for three izmir escort hours at a time in pursuit of an education I had yet to discover a use for. My pain was somewhat eased by the constant presence of the crunchable college girls that were taking trig with me. I never get tired of looking at something I don’t want, and catching a glimpse down someone’s obnoxiously open shirt always brightens my day.

Sunday. Sunday was not the best of days in Rotterdale. Fridays and Saturdays, those were bumping. Sunday was a day of rest. We weren’t overly religious; we have a temple and a cathedral and a church. Still, it’s… what’s the word? “Grownups’ Day”. They finish with church or whatever and peruse through town rather than work. They even spend time with their kids. Not a good day for hunting scratch, not good at all. With my parents off work as well, it’s just time for me to spend in school since there’s nothing else worth doing.

And now class is over for the day. Six in the evening, and Rotterdale is back in the twenty-forties, when my parents were my age. Can’t even go to Julie’s since it’s cramped full of old people like everywhere else.

Ergo, Bill’s house.

“Hit me.”

Dree got a sock on the arm from Sam.



Somehow Dree still got his card, and he pwned all our faces with his straight.

“I hate me some Sunday, man,” Bill complained. He was a pretty good host. His parents were chill when they were around and we got to sample the liquor cabinet. None of us minded seeing Sadie around, except she got used to the three of us crashing Sunday evenings and tended to be somewhere else so she didn’t have to hide in her room all day.

“Want to catch a game?”

Being that Rotterdale makes both bread and butter off its huge stadium and arena, there was almost always some kind of event or another on any given day. The first Sunday of every month featured boxing, though the scene was never as hot since the great Rocky Stetzen retired, well before any of us were born.

“Hardly.” Bill poured himself another few drops of Drambuie and scoffed at his incoming hand, “I’m never fucking getting laid.”

“More for Drivved the great,” Dree beamed. Sure enough, a few tossed cards later, he ate up the small pool of antes that could have been bigger if he had kept his foolish mouth shut.

We’re not competitive gamblers by any means; we just began throwing extra money down to make the game a little more interesting once upon a time. None of us were rich, only getting small stipends from taking so many classes or baby paychecks from off-and-on jobs, and all we really had to play with after certain modest personal effects was what we called “date money.”

Sure, we hit up parties every once in a while or got lucky out of nowhere, but sometimes a man likes to hit up a fine piece of ass and take her out to a proper dinner in hopes for a bit of late-night fin in a hotel room. Winning on Sunday night meant having enough to go north to a nice dinner at the nice hotel. It may impress the ladies, but it’s also about spoiling ourselves by spending other people’s money. Especially after winning it from them.

Tonight, Dree was in line for the honors. It rather pissed us off, since he’d probably fuck up whatever date he got if he had the balls to ask a chick out, so our precious money would just fatten his pocket while the rest of us had to put up with our usual sneaking into girls’ bedrooms or whatever.

Sam had it worst, there almost always being someone awake in his house when he tried to sneak in, and his dad was a real pain about his kids bringing anyone over without introducing them to him first. Tended to make sure only real friends and dates got brought over rather than Sam’s usually one-night-only fare. Dree, he lived with his mom a few days a week while he went to school; the rest of the time, he was off in the Garden where he grew up. There wasn’t much privacy, but you eat pretty well there and there’s work for some decent money. Me, I never feel like breaking my back in manual labor.

Oh yeah, point. The four of us don’t really have our own places to get laid. Hotel money is a good thing. Now on with the game.

The game was about over when Sadie came back with a few of her harpies. Rather than sit there, subjected to their schoolgirl giggles, we were faster to put whatever we had on the table. In a stroke of luck, I ended up getting a few winning hands in a row and managed to sweep the table.

“Prick,” Sam muttered at me, but it could’ve been Dree.

“Don’t deal like a horse’s ass next time then,” I said comfortingly as I collected my bounty. With my other two boys, I grabbed my shoes and my shirt, polished off my Knob, and headed for the door.

“Good evening, Sadie,” I said quite suavely to Bill’s sister, even kissing her hand in front of her friends and mine. “Night, bitch,” I said over my shoulder to Bill. Ha ha ha.


Ahh, the possibilities of a fatty wallet. I’m not afraid of a hard day’s work, but I abhor escort izmir getting a job and a uniform and doing the same boring thing every day. My mom said she’d pay for me to go to school, so I did that rather than get a job. She gives me a little money because she understands that it’d be near impossible to get a job with the hours I have, but in turn her asshole husband cut me off from the fridge except for what I buy for myself. Prick.

“What’re you grinning about?” my sister asked me. We don’t talk much, so the thing about the party a while ago just died away without ever getting anywhere.

“Nothin’, nothin’.” I at my roast beast in peace, though I couldn’t stop grinning.

“I’m glad you had a good day, dear,” my mother added. She and her asshole husband had been off doing their thing that day, so Becky had been enjoying the run of the house until they got back. I wonder where she hides the sheets when she finishes.

Dinner at home was a bit uncomfortable. Since I was forced to buy my own food, I wasn’t about to pass up a free meal, even though Mom insisted the family eat together every Sunday evening anyway. It was about the only time all four of us were in the same room. Becky and I never really got used to the asshole, see. Still, only one night a week. Never my favorite night.

The thought of a big pocket of spare change was keeping my spirits up, and it was obviously bugging Becky that she didn’t know exactly what was going on in my head. I finished dinner in a timely manner and excused myself without pissing anyone off, and I was off for my room.

Knock knock.

“Go away.” Usually it was my mother, if anyone, who came bugging me, but whomever it was, no one minded me acting a little bit of a jerk.

“Lemme in, you jerk,” Becky called.

I let her in.

“Teh fuck you want?”

“You were smiling at dinner. It’s unnatural.”

“Let’s just say your big brother’s got a hot date set for this Friday,” I beamed, more in pride than anything. Money wasn’t easy, so having won a good handful of it was a pretty good feeling. That, the waiting to spend it, and the actual spending itself. Then there’s the coming-down when you’re broke again, but I refuse to think about that now.

“Eew! Who’s the fugly bitch? That middle-schooler you fucked last Friday ago?”

So she had been thinking about it. And what the fuck? I didn’t bring up me catching her with some loser.

“She was eighteen,” I lied. Or not; I honestly had no idea.

Oh fucking shit… I have no idea if she was eighteen…

“You sure?”

“What you want?”

“You want to know how old she really is?” she goaded with the delight of having such a secret to torment me with.

“Not really.”

I was getting nervous. I’m only twenty, but laws were getting ridiculous about ‘carnal knowledge’. If you were a certain age, you couldn’t touch someone a day under eighteen, though a girl a week away from her birthday is more forgivable than one about to turn sixteen. Admittedly I had quite a bit of that ‘carnal knowledge’ that parents were so afraid of their daughters being exposed to, but still, the town rule has always been that kids can date anyone inside the four-year range. Whether the parents knew that, the kids did. They didn’t necessarily tell their parents about it, mind, especially if, say there was a sixteen-twenty?

Still, not good if someone thinks it’s funny if the girl I nailed (“made a permanent dent in the bed” more accurately) wasn’t quite as ripe as I would’ve liked for my own safety’s sake. It’s not really wrong, but you can’t ever be too safe. And I, I hadn’t bothered to be safe.

She was close to me. Glaring down at me. Her tits weren’t popping out of her shirt, but there was quite a show when she bent over to give me the second degree. And those eyes… those ice-blue eyes with that jet-black hair. The contrast draws you to her eyes no matter how hard you try to look down her shirt, and then the rest of her face kicks in, usually little stylings decorating her face done with an eyebrow pencil. Absolutely…


“Huh?” Thank God I had been staring at her eyes when my mind wandered off; it wouldn’t do to have been caught staring down her chest. Of course thinking that made me glance down. Her eyes were locked on mine when I looked back up.

“You’re nothing but a dirty pervert,” she repeated. “What if she got pregnant?”

Okay, enough. “Now you’re just being silly,” I snorted, standing up suddenly.

She was in the middle of a smart-ass smirk that said she knew better than I did about something, but my sudden leap forward made her stumbled. She fell back on her ass; I went with her in trying to catch her; it was a rather marvelous display of heroics on my part. Perhaps she’d rethink her high opinion of me. “You alright?”

She shoved me away and got up on her own. “You just better hope Mom doesn’t find out what you did,” she snapped on her way out.

To think that her lips were so close to mine and I didn’t do anything about it kept me up that night. I was rock-solid, and I couldn’t bear to drain the pressure out, so obviously perving over my own sister. Last night was one thing, but a second time? No, that’d be too weird, wouldn’t it?

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