My Little Sis Is So Sweet

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I had my shot perfectly lined up. 8 ball in the corner pocket, I had called it. Make this shot and five bucks will be mine along with the bragging rights to have beaten the best pool shark in my whole senior high school class. Of course now, I did have the home court advantage. We were playing 9-ball on my pool table in my basement den.

Just a firm little tap is all I need with a slight touch of english on the right side at about 5 o’clock. Careful, not too much because the path to the 8 ball is too damn narrow! Ready? Hold your breath and let half of it out. Now, take the shot!

“Luke, do you and Billy want some lemonade?” my little sis shouted from halfway down the basement steps. “I just made some from fresh-squeezed

Because of the unexpected interruption, my arm involuntarily jerked. The tip of my cue stick hit the cue ball too hard causing the ivory orb to smack into the 8 ball at the wrong angle. The black ball skipped past the corner pocket and the cue ball dropped into the hole instead. Scratch! Goddamnit, I scratched!

The sound of rattling glasses preceded the arrival of an effervescent girl bearing liquid refreshments. Crista was four years younger than me, but she seemed to be much younger than that. Her diminutive size contributed to the confusion. At only 4’ 10” and about 85 pounds, the girl child was a foot shorter than me and at least 75 pounds lighter.

“Pay up pal,” Billy ordered after he sank the 8 ball with his next shot. I turned to see an outstretched hand and a grinning face. My friend added, “I’m still champion and undefeated!”

I handed over a crisp 5 dollar bill which Billy pocketed nonchalantly. He was used to winning, but I’d almost beat him. If not for, well hell, if not for Crista’s interference, I would have! I ought to be mad as a wet hen at the girl, but I wasn’t surprised that I wasn’t angry. Anger was an emotion I didn’t use around my sweet little sis. I guess I loved the girl more than I loved anyone else on this earth! The little sweetheart was my baby sis to look after and protect from all the evil in this world.

“Sorry Crista, but I’ll pass on your lemonade today,” Billy said. “I’m sure it’s as sweet as you are ‘cutie’ but I’ve got a ton of homework waiting for me at home! See ya tomorrow, Luke. I’ll let myself out.”

With that said, Billy took the basement steps three at a time then ran through the back door and slammed it hard enough for us two downstairs to hear it. My friend had called my little sis a ‘cutie’ but he knew better than to get any more familiar with her than that. My rules had been explicitly laid down to all my friends. No flirting with the innocent doll! No teasing, no joking, and no boy & girl familiarity was allowed at all!

Yes, Crista is indeed a ‘cutie’ but no boy was allowed to think so in my presence other than me! And wow, the babydoll was looking especially adorable today! Ha, she was even wearing the tee shirt I had recently bought her as a gag gift. The shirt’s front had the picture of several plush-toy cartoon animals on its white cloth bosom with the caption “it’s not easy being this cute” emblazoned across in green and yellow ***********. Of course now, it’s my interpretation that the ‘cuteness’ refers to the attractive girl and not the shirt or her bosom!

That’s not to say Crista’s bosom is not adorable too, because as a matter of fact, it is! This girl has been a ‘late bloomer’ so she hasn’t had her pominent, bosomy chest for long. As this kid’s brother, best friend, and all-around confidant, I know all her secrets even down to the details of her first menstrual cycle four months ago. I even knew that her young female periods were coming sporadically. She had just gotten over only her second one since she began.

I’m sure Mom assumed Crista received help from her friends when handling her newfound feminine ‘stuff’ because she never sought the solace of her mother. The truth of the matter is that my sweet little sis came to the one person in the world whom she trusted the most to take care of her. She came to me! Yeah, there I was at the age of 17 up to my elbows in a runny mess of a teen girl pussy and a supply of ‘feminine hygiene products’.

To be absolutely honest I’d have to say that helping Crista with her period wasn’t the first time I’d gotten her pussy blood on my hands. Two years ago, when she was younger and sweet,the two of us were riding and she was thrown from a skittish horse. There were no broken bones, but there was a reddish wetness running out of her panties. The little girl screamed in fright. After I got the panties off her, I realized that my sister’s hymen was busted. I carried her to a stream and cleaned her up the best I could with fresh water and tissues. The only soothing balm I had for the inside of her pussy was my saliva-soaked finger. I doctored her pussyhole as good as I could.

These experiences brought Crista and me even closer together. The girl loosened up and stopped being so self-conscious around me. The two of us stepped into and out of each others bedrooms or bathrooms with no timid hesitation. There were times when one or both of our bodies might have been scantily clad and other times when we weren’t clad all! We two unintentionally became very well visually acquainted with the intimate shapes of the other one’s body. I would certainly hope nobody would get the wrong idea from our behavior. We did not touch! We were a loving brother and sis! Period!

“Hey, Luke,” Crista said from beside to pool tale. “Sorry if I interrupted your game, but now that Billy is gone, can I shoot to a round? I can’t bet 5 dollars, but I’ll bet something else if you want. Okay?”

Looking at this unbelievably cute child, I felt the love just sweep over me. I pulled Crista into my arms, engulfed her in a bear hug, and kissed her cheek with genuine affection. Just for good measure, I tickled her belly and ribs till she squealed for mercy. “You’re on, kid!” I excitedly responded. “Here’s the bet. You lose, you kiss me good! You win, you kiss me anyway! That’s the rules. Still wanna play?”

Instead of answering, Crista kicked off her shoes, flounced her skirt, and sashayed to the pool table. That little sis of mine then proceeded to ‘run the table’ with a skill that would have made Minnesota Fats cry. My heart soared with love and pride.

The barefooted girl danced around the pool table on twinkle-toe feet. Her swirling skirt gathered light into its red-plaid checks then reflected it out in a rainbow shower of magnified multicolor hues. Right before each shot, Crista looked me in the eye, smiled, and called it. Something was different today. When she looked at me, my mind fell into the mesmerizing dark pools of her eyes. My heart dove in, too.

Today, I was seeing something I’d not seen before. A young woman was standing where my young sis had once stood. Had her hair always been that same shade of radiant blonde hue? Had her face been posed so perfectly that she seems to have stepped from a portrait frame? Why do those two tiny pink ribbons look so delicately entwined within her strands? And, pray tell, why is there an uncommon stiffness between my legs that I don’t understand?

“3 ball in the corner pocket,” Crista called it. Oh no, oh hell no, she can’t do it! It can be done! It’s an across the table, up through an alley of balls, shot! It will require using a bridge. She will have to practically lay on the pool table.

Crista grabbed the bridge and set it in position. She took an unbelievably limber right leg and set its foot on the pool table and sat the left foot on the floor.