To school, with lovely 'ol sis.

Have I always been so impulsive?

I don't know. I am too busy poking my sister's nipples in the backseat of Mom's car. How pink. How stubby. Could they erase wrong answers on a scantron? Only one way to find out.

"Ooohhh, damn!" My sister growls after one particularly stinging prod, and she looks up from her phone, dropping her hands to her bare lap to look at me. "John, please, can you save this for later..."

"Yeah, but you're naked."

That sets her off. "My NIPPLES are not TOYS!"

"Well, you did give me a blowjob yesterday..."

Jessica shrugs. "Yeah, and it was awesome." After a brief, distant smile, her glare returns to me and she shoves me on my side. "But that's not an excuse to just start, like, **** me!"

She's right. "You're right," I pause, look away for half a minute. Then I turn back to her. "Until now, because now me **** you is one of your personal life goals."

I snap my finger, and Jessica shakes her head. Then, as if a new realization had come over her, she clasps her hand together, looking at me intensely.

"PLEEEEEASE John, please please please pleeease **** me!? In the ass, in the pussy, in my mouth, in ANY of those holes..!?! I... I promise I'll do your chores if you do!" Jessica blinks up at me with pulsing, wide cute eyes. I move a strand of hair out of one, trying to assure her. She just takes that as a no, and pleads her case further.

Mom tells us to quiet down, and we do. Eventually. My sister's glum disposition subsides after a few taps on her phone. I look out the window, finger rapping asynchronously against my jeaned leg.

School. School on a weekend. Eugh.

Feels wrong, doesn't it?

But hey. Nothing has to stay that way forever. Not these days.

Not when I can turn everyone there into skimpily dressed cat-costumed vixens. Or custodians celebrating underwear day. Or oblivious objects of my sexual ministrations and molestations and whatever else had an -ation in it.

I had decided to tag along with my sister to her theater rehearsal session, clambering into the car with her naked self and our prim, major hot mama. For a minute, I wondered if I should let her dress back up, like normal. But then my hands began slapping her tight, slender bod, and flicking those ironically plump nipples, and I lost that train of thought, ashamed to say. There's still time 'til we reach campus, anyway. If I truly did want to reverse her parentally mandated nudist deontology.

Naturally, I spend the time power napping.

"We're here." After a few minutes, the car comes to a stop in the parking lot by the east wing. Jessica and I say goodbye to our mom with a wave, and we make our way through the gate.

As soon as we do, I renege. As if walking through a magical curtain, Jessica's body is refashioned in a fashionable blue skirt and white collared, cactus green blouse. I nod in approval. It doesn't matter, either way. Her anatomy is just as enticing dressed as it is un-dressed.

Case in point:

I slap her ass. In response, she swivels her neck. "John," with a huff, "hands off!"

Of course, I unearth a look of mock befuddlement that I think was pretty solid. Maybe I should audition. "But I'm **** you." I reach back down to get another handful of her bubble butt which she blatantly takes standing (or rather, walking), as my fingers scruffily pinch her fat flesh with a nice firm wriggle through the fabric of her modest but still somewhat form-hinting skirt. "See?"

"That?" Jessica scoffs as I let go. Laughs, even. Snorts, behoovingly. "That's not ****, silly. That's just you being a complete creep-o. On your own sister! No. No no. **** is penetration." Demonstrating with three fingers, she moves one through a hole formed by the two digits on her other hand, then starts making totally not creepy moaning and schlicking noises with her own, bona fide voice box. (Had to pat myself on the back for that one.)

But, you know what?

She's right. "You're right," I defer with a lift of the shoulders. That wasn't ****. That was diet ****. She has me beat.

So, cue a brief, quiet repose. Birds swing through the tree branches as the two of us head for the auditorium. Sunlight trickling through. The sound of someone opening a door, rolling a cart, echoing in the distance. Not a skimpily dressed girl in a cat costume in sight. Yet.