Rebuke Sister, Perspective Swap

The sound of the television in the living room calmed my nerves a little as I entered the house, if only because it was a familiar background noise. It did, however, mean that my sister or my mom was up. I could only hope it was the latter.

The sight of Rebecca's long legs sprawled out on the footrest proved that nope, not even that could go right today. Though I guess not being smashed into the pavement was pretty lucky, maybe I shouldn't be so cavalier when it comes to cursing my karma.

As I turned the corner into the living room, I couldn't help but glance at Rebecca. She was intensely focused on her show, probably Grey's Anatomy. Her large bust moved slowly up and down with each breath in her running shirt that she wore to bed, which displayed a hint of her glorious cleavage even as it clung to her curves and taught belly as if it was meant to tease her body. The memories of when we were close flashed through my mind, and I really wish we could just hit the reset button.

I must've stared at the blonde bombshell for a second too long, because even as I tore my guilty and self-hating eyes away to continue walking she sat up in indignation, then said, "Get the fuck out, perv! What the hell are you doing here anyway?"

Okay, so maybe someone had noticed that I was a little more willing to let my eyes wander. And maybe our relationship falling apart had to do with that, but still, I wish I could be different. Or at the very least I wish she would be like every one else and randomly ignore me.

As I walked out, I replied, "Jesus, Becca, don't be so mean! I'm just cleaning myself off, took a tumble while I literally saved a girl from getting plowed by a bus."

Rebecca glared at me, but then looked down, seemingly a little confused. Which was not like the smartass, she must have something up her sleeve.

After a brief pause, all she said was, "Um, okay, go do that then. That's... impressive, actually."

She looked at the ground, brow furrowed. Her body was almost relaxing in front of me for once, but she was still clearly holding herself back. I sighed internally, but took her lack of questioning my heroics as a small win and backed out of there quickly, heading up to my room to grab some new clothes before I hit the shower. Soon, I could finally think about things, then get to class with a clear head. I hoped.

Don't be so mean.

The idea that my asshole of a brother could actually do something as selfless as save someone from a bus was beyond laughable. I wanted to say as much, and lay into him some more to boot. I mean, how hard is it to fucking keep it in your pants around your siblings, holy shit. It's like all he's been able to do since he hit puberty was stare at tits and jack off to the memory, and mine were apparently no exception.

Mean. Was I being mean?

It was sad, in a way. I did used to like him, but now things were just getting to a point where things seemed irreparable, much as John seemed irredeemable. And all I could do, the whole time, was just subtly hint at him to stop, but he wouldn't. So, now I'm here, in the living room, where I can't even watch goddamned Grey's Anatomy in peace. I could now that he's gone to shower or masturbate with a sock with my name on it, but he could always come down and ogle my ugly tits again.

I'm being too mean. That much was clear to me, now. How could I be less mean, though? I suppose that when John said it, I was yelling at him for looking. Calling him a perv, which that fucker is.

No, I had to tell myself, that's a mean thing to think.

Somehow, quelling my thoughts at that moment made my pussy feel a brief pulse of pleasure. It wasn't enough to stop me in my tracks, but was enough to be noticeable. I started to look down there, but then I realized something; I was always too mean to John, when really I should be a lot more accepting.

Yeah, he may stare at me, but that doesn't give me the right to call him on it. I'm his big sister, if only by a year, and I should set the example, let him mature into the adult everyone seemed to think that perfect asshole was.

I'm still being too mean, I realized with despair. I squirmed on the couch, almost in desperation, before it hit me. If I think about him as a mature adult, really believe that he is one, that won't be mean. In fact, it'll be nice. I'll be nice. Not mean. I won't set the example, because there is no example to set. I'll just be myself, but less... mean.

He was looking at me when he said it. So what if John looked at me? Stole glances at my tits? He was a mature, respectable adult. I knew that now. Any perversion he has should be fine too. I can love him as he is, and then I'll be less mean. I just won't say a thing, and hiding discomfort is easy enough. I've learned to do it when mom and dad are around me and the golden child's wandering gaze.

I have to be less mean, I realized with a small, dry sob, my breasts heaving. If I let him stare, that must imply that I don't like it but accept he's doing it, which is still mean. I was hiding my body when I was being mean, trying to get the kind perv to leave. To be less mean, I can, I can... go with the flow, try to like it.

NO, I can actually like it. Encourage it, even. Say nice things, accept him for who he is, help him in life, display myself... His wandering eyes are fine, because I WANT them to wander.

At that thought, my hand idly started to rub my throbbing pussy through my jeans, but I didn't even notice. Yeah, from now on I was going to be a lot less mean to John. Of that I was certain. Something nagged at me though, as I felt myself tense and grow hornier and hornier. I knew that I was missing something, something important that would help me figure this shit out. I just had to think about it some more. It would come to me. Things always have.

And then, once I figure it out, I can finally know that I'm not being so mean.