Yes, Though Dinner Doesn't

"Hal! Hey, Hal, you fucker!"

A clink against his window turned Hal's snores into an asthmatic gurgle of air, and with a grumble he left his bed. Down below he saw a well-built, towering Chippendale douche looking up at him. "Who the shit are you?" Hal scoffed once he had removed the one separation between him and the apparent intruder.

"Argh!" Suddenly, the Boon coiled backward. His nose throbbed. He just got squared in the nose by a rock from some Chippendale douche! "Hey, you shithead! What was that for?" Hal spoke through a slight muffle, hand over his face.

"Stop harassing my sister!" The man had an unwavering look in his eye as he pointed at Hal. "Or you'll be getting more than just a crooked nose for your already crooked face, Hal Boon!"

And with that, the man in his plain white shirt and jeans dismissed himself, taking to the side gate and jumping over and back to the street, followed by the sound of tire against gravel.

Hal thought to himself as the pain in his nose fluctuated. "Sister?" he wrinkled. Then he remembered -- Liam Vans! Penelope's older truck-driver brother, who was as fit as a moose and used to be a wrestling champ back in high school. They actually had some history together, which also explained how he knew where he lived, where his room was, and how his crooked face looked like. Funny, even though in the back of his mind Hal knew Penelope was Liam's sister, he never actually pieced it together whenever he thought of her stunning legs and ass, and what he'd do to them, and the good 'ol fashioned banging that awaited. Go figure.

On second thought, he didn't really consider any of her siblings', actually; she had a pretty extensive family and two other brothers, Ned and Zack, that were pretty protective of her.

Shrugging, Hal decided he would deal with that when the time came. In the meantime, one sniff told him that downstairs, dinner was coming first. "Besides," he chuckled deviously as he shut the window and headed down, "with some thinkin' maybe their family will see the sense in me being Penelope's friendly neighborhood harasser." Then, he winced as his nose began throbbing again. Maybe, he should take it easy on the sniffing.

Once Hal made it down, it was the same old sight. As usual, Martha was watching some weird comedy on Netflix, in a different, normal T-shirt this time but with the same red gym shorts still on. To the right of the stairs was the kitchen and where they 'gathered around the table', and across the living room where Martha lounged was the front door. Hal whistled the Ren and Stimpy theme tune as he checked on the food.

"Hey Mom," Hal yawned, scratching his belly. The ever cute, comparably young matron of the house (as his old pals would always go on about, to Hal's displeasure -- he may be a slob, but he wasn't letting them touch his mom when he was around!) turned.

"Oh, Hal," her head was snugly draped by her rich, dark brown hair as she looked behind her from her slightly inconvenient position, leaned down to retrieve a tray from the stove. "Dinner's just about ready, so..." She frowned, tray against the counter. "What happened to your nose?"

Hal took a soda can from the fridge. "Oh, nothin'," he chucked down the Coca-Cola. Of course, despite the volume of the TV set, Martha's ears had picked up what seemed like an interesting subject. "What, something happened to your nose, bro?" she asked, quickly turning around with a clear gleam in her eyes.

"Shut it, Martha." Hal tucked in his neck, then let out a hefty burp.

"Shut yourself," the hair-swishing girl deflected, "and the fridge door, too, unless you don't know how to do it without injuring yourself."

Hal rolled his eyes. "Mom, Martha is acting like she's 6 again."

"What?!" Martha straightened in her seat. "Me? 6? Do you remember what you decided on for your yearbook quote?"

A finger arrived to Hal's chin. "Hm, was that the one about Michael Jackson?"

"No! It was, 'I got balls the size of Niagara Falls'!" Martha sent him a pointed glare. "Oh, how mature, bro."

Hal propelled a sliver of breath through his teeth. "Mr. Cline said he liked it."

This went on for a while until finally, their mother broke it up and set the dishes on the table, asking Martha to help. Hal plopped onto the sofa and surfed the TV channels.

Martha, like her mom, was quite a cute young woman; she had one of those faces that looked attractive happy, sad, bored, or angry. And her long, back-length hair complemented her girly, pert body, which was curvy in a wispy way. She was basically an 'arts girl' with good looks, so no doubt it drove the guys crazy. Her form-fitting fashion choices that also teased the silky body underneath helped, though at home she kept it economically tomboyish.

"Oh, by the way," their mom called out to Hal, "did you get all the mail earlier, Hal?"

"Yeah I did," Hal nodded.

"Speaking of, you still don't have a shirt on," Martha observed with a faux-courteous tone.

"Well honey," Mrs. Boon continued, "Martha was visiting the Perez's a couple hours later and she saw the mailbox was open and there was an envelope there."

"Yeah, except it was being sent from this address, and," Martha elaborated, looking at the back of Hal's head, "it didn't have a stamp. You know anything about that?"

Hal blinked. Ah crap. I guess I didn't close the mailbox tight enough... and shit, stamps? Who uses stamps? This is a digital fucking age!

"Geez, Hal, you can be a real ditz sometimes," his sister said through the clinking silverware, "you know they aren't going to send it without paid postage?"

"Alright, guys, dinner is ready." Their mom pulled up a chair and wiped her hands. Chicken with the usual sides and drinks were laid out on the table.

"I know that," Hal snapped as he joined them.

"Sure you did." Martha picked up a fork and knife and began cutting into the chicken. "But that wasn't even the weirdest part. What kind of letter was that supposed to be? All that stuff about permissions and asking for it."

"Hey," Hal spoke through a full mouth, dismayed, "what are you doing opening my letters?"

"Dude," Martha's voice dropped a pitch, "you sealed it with Scotch tape! No one does that! You don't do that!"

"Guys!" their mother declared, and the bickering pair silenced under their mom's firm glower. "When can we have a single meal without you two fighting over every small little detail? You two are both acting like 6-year-olds. Grow up and learn to live with each other until you move out, or eat somewhere else from now on. Okay?" With a half-audible grunt from Hal and a 'yes, Mom,' from Martha, the slightly more composed woman continued, "Good. Now, let's eat... and keep it down, alright?"

After a minute of forks rapping against plates, Hal finally leaned in towards Martha, while their mother looked worryingly at the meat of her chicken. The overtly critical, amateur cook she sometimes let show when no one was paying attention was in **** again. "I just need to know one thing," he said loudly enough for his sister to hear. She gave him a look that said she wasn't going to be giving it for long. "Wasn't that letter one of your, you know, creative things, though? You're just trying to keep it on the down low for some reason, 'cause I ruined it with my signature?"

"What?" Martha looked puzzled. "No, I thought it was some weird scam that you bought into and lamely believed, which, to be honest, wouldn't surprise me." She grabbed a glass of water and looked at him didactically. "You know you can't just make people go along with things because you just ask it differently, right? 'May I sleep with you tonight?' No. 'Can I sleep with you tonight?' No. 'Should I sleep with you tonight?' No, definitely no, along with all questions that lead to the same implication, sleeping with you. In the real world, you have to earn your privileges. No offense, but, I mean, this isn't Harry Potter." The slender girl took a drink out of her glass. Hal was more than disappointed at this point. To say tonight had been pretty crappy so far was putting it mildly, at least for Hal. But as per the old imp in him, he hid it under a mischievous glare as he bit back with the trusty alternative, sarcasm.

"Oh yeah?" Hal crossed his arms, back against the crest of his chair, then put on an over-dramatic impersonation under a set of terribly batted eyelashes. "Oh, please, my darling sister, may I sleep with you tonight, any night, under the covers, while watching porn on your cellphone, making hot sounds, and ejaculating everywhere and anywhere I like?" He braced for impact, even with his mother there; hopefully he'd at least see Martha spitting out some of her water.

"Uh," Martha calmly set the glass back down, "yeah, of course you could." She gave him a weird look. "You can be such a ditz, bro. If you wanted to be a sarcastic jerk, you at least ask something genuinely ridiculous. You know, like slapping me, I don't know. We're siblings, so the answer to that request is more than obvious. Sleeping with me and jerking off on my things is not something you need to ask me for. I'm your sis, of course you can do that, may do that, whatever. Other girls... that's a different story, as I hope you know." She shot another pointed glare. Then, like nothing, she picked up her fork again and returned to her food, Hal blinking absently.

"Well, you two better clean up whatever mess comes out of that tonight," their mother advised half-distractedly, still trying to get the best angle of a piece of chicken she had under the light, "and don't make any fuss about it afterward. I don't want to hear any more arguments over every little thing that comes up between you two, like semen-stained clothing."

"Mom, I won't make a 'fuss'," Martha deliberately lipped, "if Hal doesn't act like an immature idiot. But you want to know something? 9 times out of 10, he is one. It's really embarrassing just talking about him with Leslie and the others, you know."

Hal was still frozen in place. Then, finally, he felt a dawning come over him. Wrapping his arms back into place and sitting back, he gritted his teeth. Well shit, Martha, he thought to himself as the two ladies apparently went on talking about their loving relationship, I didn't think the uppity, tightass girl in you had the will. Apparently, he was wrong, and considering her currently passive regard for the act he just put on, she was honestly trying. He looked to the other side of the table and frowned.

The strange, really, really strange part, though, was that their straitlaced, upstanding mother even went with it! Now in no world was that possible just by logical means; she would never entertain the thought of ****, crude pornographic consumption, needlessly dirty clothes, or god forbid, all of the above at once!

"Could it be," Hal quietly murmured, "that they've been planning this all along. They've been arranging a partnership, a plan to unvalidate all my attempts at messing with their idea of order, peace, American family values..!? So now they're going to try messing with me, through this little game of theirs... by not giving me the luxury, or whatever I bet Martha told Mom." Hal shook his head, his consternation growing. How could I be so stupid?! All along, that letter was just a fucking ploy... His eyes flickered as he came across another apparent epiphany. But, they have underestimated me. Like they say, hummus comes before the fall. Oh-ho-ho... they think Hal Boon is just another idiot they can toss, do they? Well... two can play at that game.

Hal nodded, a wry smile on his face, as he relaxed into his chair, and the two ladies began clearing the table.

"Hal," his lovely mother called, "would you help me with the dishes this time? Your sister has to go study."

"Not to mention I also helped her prepare the food while you watched Ren and Stimpy," Martha chimed in as she clambered up the stairs.

Hal just looked on. "Fine," he said, before suddenly getting an idea. After telling Mom he'd be right back, Hal went up the stairs, catching his sister on the way to her room. Grabbing her hand, she abruptly turned around, irritated when she saw it was him again.

"What is it? And don't touch me, you haven't even washed your hands." Martha pulled her arm away from Hal's grip. Hal just grinned.

"But, I can touch you whenever I want, wherever I want? No matter how, and with what I got on these delicious fingers of mine?"

A mortified expression appeared on Martha's face. "Eww, who do you even think you're talking to, perv!? I'm your own sister!" Martha began stomping away.

"Wait!" Hal chided himself. Wrong word, dammit! "I mean, I may touch you whenever I want!"

"Why don't you touch yourself wherever you want now and leave me alone, huh?" She looked back, face reddened, as she twisted the knob of her door, pushed it open, then slammed it closed. A sliver of her extensively accessorized and plastered room was glimpsed, along with that pert little ass of hers, before it was back to a slab of old, plain wood staring back. Hal stood, flabbergasted, in the hall. What the hell happened to the "will" she bore downstairs?! She gave up real quick all things considered!

"Damn it," Hal offered lastly, stretching his voice loud enough for her to catch it behind her door, "may I!? May I touch you whenever and wherever I want no matter how?!" After a couple more seconds of his staring contest with old, plain wood, Hal sighed and went down the stairs, scratching his head.

In the kitchen, his mom was checking her phone, leaning against the wall by their side door which led to the outside. The cool breeze was welcome. "Hal," she addressed when he walked up to the sink, and her voice turned serious, "Hal, if you don't stop harassing your sister, I'm going to have to set some ground rules."

"Yeah, yeah," Hal blankly acknowledged, though he wasn't really listening. He kicked the dishwasher by his foot as he began washing by hand the junkyard pile at the sink. Looked like there were leftovers from the past two days, too. "When we gonna get this thing fixed, Mom?"

"When your dad comes back from his business trip, hopefully," she replied, with a sigh. "I've been trying to ask Carl but he's busy doing work around town." Carl Perez was the father of the Perez household, who were family friends with the Boons. Him, his wife Yolanda Perez, and their single daughter, Leslie Perez, had known each other since practically prehistoric times, though with Frederick Boon often gone a full get-together was a rarity. Hal used to ask about his dad and when he'd come back from his routine 'trips', before learning that it was mostly useless, anyway. It would've been a summer and half of the next one by the time he'd return back then. So much for those three camping trips, he remembered thinking as a kid.

"Anyways," the attractive, motherly woman gave a reassuring smile as she came up to Hal and rubbed part of his side, "don't worry about Martha. She's probably just been stressed out, recently, especially with her school activities. I'm sure she'll come around to letting you touch her however you like by tomorrow." She winked, before walking off. "Bet on it. Give her little butt a squeeze or two and let me know how it turns out, okay?"

Hal blinked.

Hold on... what did she say? he replayed her words, then out of pure impulse and not quite knowing what else to say or believe, turned to her and blurted, "Wait, Mom, about what I said earlier, during dinner."

She stopped, looking back at Hal. "About that letter thing?"

"No, about," Hal steeled himself, and didn't look away, "sleeping with Martha tonight, watching porn on her cellphone, and all that. Remember, she said I could? So... what I'm saying is, I can still do that right?"

"Oh honey, are you feeling guilty?" A look of warmth suddenly adorned the woman's face and she suddenly looked even prettier than ever. "My, maybe you really are growing up." Her lips curved playfully, then she said, "I know you two have your problems, but believe me when I say that that shouldn't make you uncomfortable just going through the motions, like saying hi, or, as you brought up, watching porn on her cellphone while sleeping with her on her bed tonight, then giving each of her possessions and clothes a good sperm bath. Don't be afraid of the small things, and things will eventually fix themselves."

Suddenly breaking into a yawn she stretched her arms, her body pushed nicely against her modest long-sleeved blouse. Her thick and sturdy thighs and legs were also cozily covered by a pair of capri jeans folded at the knee, and looked as enticing to the hand as the full C-cup breasts that settled her smooth chest. She was only in her mid-30's, having conceived him and Martha in an age before the chickens should have roosted, as she would joke to other moms. Even though it didn't really make sense. "Anyways, I'm beat, so I'm heading to bed," she announced, then thanked Hal for his doing the dishes before turning the corner and climbing up the stairs to her room. Hal watched as she left, crickets chirping outside.

Water running over his hands, Hal thought about the two women's weirdass behavior, the letter, and the Chippendale douchebag who stoned his nose (and still occasionally ached, by the way) from earlier while the grime of the dishes were cleaned off in varying degrees.

"Fucking hell," he professed. "If it's gone this far..." With the dishes done he wiped his hands on the hairs of his stomach and went towards the living room, looking up the stairs. He thought about Martha, and her cute face, and her angry shout from before. He shook his head, not sure what to make of it. She might be going to sleep now, which meant --

Hal grumbled, thinking that after all this, he was probably not game for any more drama. But sometimes, you just had to put the money where the mouth is...