Keep it to yourself

Telling everyone how crazy you are is not going to help this already problematic situation. Your mother had the weight of the world on her shoulders, then got to taste one moment of freedom before all hell broke loose. Now she’s back to feeling as though this is all her fault. This living situation was supposed to be a temporary solution to problems, not a gateway to new ones. You need to get this house fixed up so you can all get out of here. You’re confident that is the solution. Hard work solves things.

A sharp thump from Delta’s room stops you as you pass in the hallway. It’s quiet, but your instincts speak to you. You approach the door and knock politely. “You good?”

“No.” The muffled reply is more of a whimper. “Wait. Wait. Flynn. Wait.”

You wait.

“OK, come in. Help me. Please.”

Yup. No doubt about it. She had a naughty dream or just let the wrong thought get away from her. Delta is in heat.

You brace yourself and open the door. She’s messy, just out of bed, and wearing plaid pajama pants and a hoodie that she must have just pulled on. It’s cool-ish in the mornings, but still too warm for all that.

You’re wrong. She is not in heat; you can tell from her eyes. She’s terrified. You follow her gaze.

“Holy smokes!” You go stiff, and a chill goes up and down your body, making you prickle all over. A spider clings to the wall on the far side of the room. It’s about the size of Delta’s hand. Delta is a small woman, but still.

“Flynn. Please.”

OK, this is not exactly the kind of pleading that you have recently become accustomed to. But it’s not the first time that something like this has been asked of you. This is actually much more familiar and comfortable than what’s been going on lately.

“OK. OK. That is a huntsman,” you tell her gently. “It can’t hurt you.”

“Flynn!”

“I know. I know. I’ll, uh, get it out of here.”

“Oh my god. Kill it.”

“Close your eyes.”

She covers them with her hands. There’s a UFG folder with some papers in it on the floor by her bed. You pick it up and approach the spider. It doesn’t move. You open the window and then stop to gather your wits. For this to work, the spider has to cooperate.

“OK, buddy. You’re gonna get on here, and then you’re going out there. I don’t want any trouble from you, and you don’t want trouble from me,” you say, moving closer.

The spider doesn’t respond.

You really ought to go and get a bucket or something, but Delta will flip out if you try to leave. You know your sister.

“You are going outside,” you say firmly, as though the spider is arguing with you.

You can’t do it. The plan sucks. You pivot to plan B and use the folder to badger the spider from the left. It moves, with sickening speed, to the right. You do it again, and now it’s close to the window.

You brandish the folder. “Let’s go.”

It doesn’t move.

You take a deep breath, then point your finger at it. “OK, man. Look,” you say.

A moment passes, and the spider crawls out in a way that makes it clear that he’s not doing this because you told him to. He has stuff to do outside anyway.

You close the window and relax. “Jesus Christ. I thought I was gonna die.”

“Is it gone?”

“Yeah, it’s gone.” You toss the papers aside.

She exhales, tension flowing out of her. “OK. Thank you. He was big.”

“Yup.”

She breathes, making little meditation hand gestures. “I’m OK.” Then she becomes very still.

You cock your head. “Something wrong?”

Her eyes open and she puts on a strained turtle face.

Your jaw drops. “What? What could I possibly have done?”

She steadies herself on the wall, glaring at you. “Oh my god. You fucking tool.” She glares harder. “Being sweet and helpful and not wanting to kill bugs—it’s not unattractive,” she says through gritted teeth, face burning.

There it is. That’s pretty cute. Your heart skips and everything gets weak below your waist.

“Fuck. Fuck.” She looks away, then throws herself on the bed. “Go away. No, wait. Don’t.”

You hesitate, and there’s no way to differentiate between your thoughts and feelings and whatever has done this to you. You go toward the bed, not the door. Her hips move as she shoves her hand into those pajama bottoms, burying her face deep in her pillow.

“Yes,” she hisses when she feels you climb onto the bed.

You have only seconds before there is no rational thought left. Decisions must be made. You have no condom on your person, although you’re supposed to be carrying them. Delta has some, but they aren’t in plain sight. You have to solve this appropriately. She fumbles with her free hand, trying to get her pants down, but she’s too focused on masturbating. It looked like a petulant flounce, but diving on the bed this way was smart. She set the stage for a quick resolution that’s going to be much less awkward than some alternate ones you can think of.

That’s it. No more thought.

You yank the pajama bottoms down enough to expose her cute ass, only you missed her panties, so those are still on. You get just a glimpse of movement inside the fabric from her fingers before her thighs squeeze together and her booty clenches. You free your cock and push and grind it against her cheeks. She’s not a gymnast anymore, but she’s still pretty perky back here. She whimpers and shudders.

“Do it,” she says raggedly.

You just stare down at her and pull, zero to sixty.

“Are you jerking off?” she pants.

“Uh huh,” you reply.

“Do it on me.”

You are way ahead of her on that one. It’s quick.

She gasps sharply when she feels hot strings and drops all over her panty-covered buttocks. Her hips rise, bumping your cock as you pull it, and her legs become taut as she cums with an agonized noise, half-muffled as she bites the pillow.

Her body goes from firm and tense to soft. The white globs on her underwear become dark stains. Your breathing goes back to normal.

“Move,” she grumbles, and you climb off so she can get up. You politely look away and make yourself decent as she sheds her sticky panties and yanks her pajama pants back up. Then she hugs you, which is not something she’s done regularly in a long time. This seems like a particularly strange time for it.

“You OK?” you ask, rubbing her back.

“I’m scared,” she admits into your chest. “So much spooky stuff.”

“What?”

“All of us suddenly being crazy. Giant demon spider. Evil devil lady.”

You choose not to challenge her on her description of the spider. “Evil devil lady? Like with horns?”

She looks up sharply. “How’d you know that?” Before you can reply, she stomps on your foot.

“Gah! Why?”

“Why didn’t you say something? I thought I was losing my mind!”