Family Ties

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, and… you were right.” She huffed in exasperation. “You’re gonna make me self-conscious if you keep looking surprised.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she said. “Go along, I mean. I…” She paused to find the right words. “I know I get flirty sometimes, especially when I’ve been drinking.”

“Fine. I know I get flirty sometimes, especially when I’ve been drinking.

“Alcohol lowers your inhibitions,” I said, and she nodded. “But they return when you’re sober, and you end up feeling guilty.”

“Like now. Only, I don’t feel guilty about anything we did, just how I acted. I was really mad at first, but then I couldn’t sleep, and the champagne started to wear off—my stupid metabolism—and I felt really bad. You were just trying to… um… protect me. From myself, I guess.”

“I want you to know, though… I really wanna do those things, the ones I said. You can have your way with me, and you can make me… you know.”

“Suck my dick?” I offered.

She nodded. “Just… when I’m ready.”

“I know,” I said softly. “And I’m willing to wait.”

“All you have to do is ask.”

“When I haven’t been drinking.”

“Only… do you want me to stop altogether? Drinking, I mean. I will if you want. I swear. I’ll never—”

“No. Alcohol isn’t the problem. Right now, it just means you don’t worry about trying to be a good girl. You can say what you want, ask for what you want. The real ‘problem’ is when you haven’t been drinking.”

She heard the quotes and didn’t object.

She gasped and squirmed as I teased her opening. Then she moaned when I gently pushed my finger into her.

“Oh, wow. You’re wet and ready, aren’t you?”

“Well, what’d you expect? You were playing with your penis. And we’ve been talking about sex while Mr. Big is pressing into my stomach. So, yes, I’m a little hot and slippery.”

I grinned down at her. “You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

“Especially when I think you’re making fun of me. And don’t you forget it!”

“I wasn’t making fun of you. I was just surprised.”

“No argument from me.”

“Thank you!” She took a deep breath and relaxed. Then she closed her eyes and very firmly pulled my finger out of her pussy. “Thank you,” she said again. “I can’t concentrate when you do that. I can barely think straight when Mr. Big is— No! Don’t take him away.”

I chuckled and rolled toward her again. Mr. Big returned to his warm little spot on her hip.

“I do. And we were talking about you and guilt.”

“I thought we were talking about me and drinking.”

“We were, but that’s only a symptom of the problem. And I shouldn’t even call it a problem. It isn’t. It’s just part of who you are.”

“Only… you want me to change.”

“I think you do too. I mean, you must be really unhappy sometimes.

You’re torn between what you want and feeling guilty about it.”

“You can say that again,” she muttered.

Why can’t you just do it?”

“Because I don’t want you to feel guilty about it.”

“What makes you think I will?”

“My past. With Kendall.”

“Ugh! You keep throwing her in my face.”

“I know. I get that part. But I don’t like being compared to someone in your past.”

“I can’t help it. I really grew to resent Kendall, to resent the fact that she wouldn’t just do what she wanted. I see you doing the same thing. You want something, but instead of asking or doing it yourself, you hint real hard for me to do it, to make the decision for you.”

“But I asked! Okay, so I was a little drunk at the time, but I still asked.”

“Yes, but… even then, you were still putting the burden on me.”

“Through your words.”

“Okay, you know how words are important to me, right? I… paint with them, like you said. Well, when you paint with oils or acrylics, brushstrokes matter. You paint up and to the left, the light reflects one way. Side to side, another. You follow me?”

“Duh. I’m a better painter than you.”

I grinned in spite of her tart reply.

“Nothing, really. Well, nothing that has to do with what we’re talking about. I’ll tell you later, but the short version is that I really like how feisty and competitive you are.”

“I can’t tell if you’re teasing me or—?”

“No, I really like it. But where were we? Yeah, words. So, they’re like brushstrokes. Say them one way and they mean one thing. Say them another and they mean something different.”

“Yeah, they do. Listen: what’s the difference between ‘I want to…’ and ‘I want you to…’?”

“Nothing. Well, no. Duh, I hear the difference. It’s ‘you.’ But what’s the big deal?”

“Responsibility. Who’s responsible for the actions? You or me?”

“Well… you. And me.” She shook her head in irritation. “Who cares?”

“I know. And you can’t change overnight.