Primal Scream (Box Set #1, Taboo Sex + AFF) (8 page)

He winked back at one of the locals who smiled at him first, a well-dressed, polished woman, with thick glossy hair. She was in her early twenties, maybe about Christina’s age, or slightly older. He might have turned around to chat her up, if he wasn’t on the way to meet Christina right now, which arguably was of a higher priority.

Andy had had a few girlfriends and some casual flings, since he’d obtained his employment visa. Nothing serious: all in the name of fun. He’d fling away with strangers. Sometimes he’d luck out, and gain some friends along the way.

The girls he met could be so bendable. Some were enterprising as well. One of them sold her underwear online to earn extra money. She stated on her website that she wore the pieces for “a minimum of 12 hours.” The first set of items sold out on the first day.

The age of consent for sexual activity in Singapore was 16. He’d stand up and flip the young girls around, grabbing onto their slender calves and lovely ankles while they sucked him off hard and fast. Some of them would arrive in their plaid pleated skirt school uniforms, since uniforms were mandatory in the public schools. The girls often had more to teach him, than the other way around.

He’d had a threesome, once, with a Japanese-Italian girl and her black friend.

Itadakimasu!
he always remembered. The Japanese girl had uttered that, silk panties around one of her ankles, before she pulled his boxers down and whipped out his cock for a good blowjob.

“
Itaga…” he’d originally heard. Later, when the three of them were resting in a heap on the floor, he asked her what she’d said.

“
It means, ‘let’s eat,’” the black girl replied. “You gotta watch more anime.”

The Japanese girl went a little bit further, explaining that meals in Japan traditionally began with the phrase
itadakimasu
—which literally meant, “I humbly receive.”

“
Like
bon appétit!
” the black girl added, shooting Andy a pouty air kiss.

They were so similar to Christina, in terms of manners, mannerisms, and even the genuine way in which they smiled. Before getting worked up for another round where he was sandwiched between the girls, he remembered keeping his mind on plain, unsexy things—paperwork, the new furniture he’d bought, the show he was missing on TV—in order to divert his mind’s attention away from Christina Acklin.

He let his guard down just once during that hook-up. He’d started to think of Christina’s long legs lovingly wrapped around him, gazing up at him with sultry siren eyes. She could still do splits during her mid-teens—he’d get her to show him how low she could still go—and massage her strong, hardworking calve muscles.

But he stopped himself, and re-focused. He wasn’t one to think of his stepsister, that way.

Not that it was wrong. He was just above the more animalistically-driven members of a functioning society. Besides, what could he have done? She was thousands of miles away.

But that was then.

I’m here!
Christina messaged about three minutes ago.

And this was now. She’d already collected her bags—she was traveling light anyway.

I’m in a boring, blue and white shirt, carrying a dark gray laptop bag,
he’d messaged back. He hadn’t changed that much in looks, since they’d last seen each other. He hadn’t had the time to check up on his family’s and Swiss friend’s Facebook profiles since his workload started to get heavier about 6 months ago.

He wondered if beautiful Christina had a boyfriend by now. As in, a steady one.

Andy had always taken great pride in his stepsister’s chaste ways, even though no one in the family had forced her to be that way. They were so close, he thought of her more as his sister than as a stepsister. Her sense of style had been positively matronly—dressed up in dowdy attire throughout high school. Long-sleeved tops and long-sleeved skirts, all the time, all the skin coverage in the world and zero draping—some called it prudish, some called it demure—but Christina survived, and had just begun to blossom during her last upper secondary school year. Some of the more popular girls in her cohort were already fast on their way to becoming train wrecks. They made girls like Lindsay Lohan look like saints.

Many of the locals Andy knew could be pretty horny and liberal, under the guise of sanitary obedience, and subscription to the notion of working round-the-clock all days of the week. Maybe some of them snapped after a while—there seemed to be quite a few whacked-out people walking around these days. More and more incidents were being reported in the local news/media outlets of individuals casually strolling into restaurants and other public places, totally in the nude. Maybe the weather was just getting too hot at close to 30°C/86°F, all year round.

The locals always treated him well, for some reason. He wondered if it had something to do with his neat, clean cut appearance, which enhanced his Nordic whiteness, blond hair, and clear sky-blue eyes.

He’d reached the end of one side of the station by now.

Still no sign of Christina A.—she was probably dazed and jet laggy, and hadn’t seen him.

He turned back, looking more carefully at the big map in the center of the walkway that she said she was waiting at. All he saw were throngs of families, couples, families, and more couples.

Is it so wrong to be a single person?
He prided himself on it. He didn’t need to rely on anyone for anything. He didn’t think of “single” as being a “status,” but as a word that described a person who was strong enough to live and enjoy life, without depending on others.

He spotted a fantabulous set of gams first—long, lean, toned, tremendous legs that looked like they never skipped a day’s workout at the gym. A chic, black leather trolley bag accompanied the fabulous pair of sleek legs. When he realized who it was, he felt the pulse of his red blood fired up and coursing through his body, just like when he’d first set his eyes on the girls he’d met for the threesome, and all the other individuals he’d hooked up with for all his various sexcapades.

She was in a sassy, thin-strapped honeysuckle dress, which stopped just above the knees, and she had a glossy sheen over her lips, with a hint of pink on her cheeks. She was like the glorious Greek goddess Aphrodite herself, who had just arrived to be received by his kind and loving, open arms.

This was the first time he’d ever felt this way about his little sister, Christina. Yes, he’d thought she was good-looking, yes, he’d thought she was a good person, but—

“
It’s so good to see you!” She gave him a hug, and he hugged her back, keeping himself still when some of her light blonde hair brushed against his hand. It took all his willpower not to grab her right there, and start making out with her. She had a raw, natural, heavenly scent, which matched what he was in the mood for.

And she was all he saw right now.

“
Lookin’ good,” Andy croaked, throat dry and tight, as they walked towards the escalator. He could hardly see straight, and gripped the hand rail of the escalator, so he wouldn’t keel over and get a slipped disk from falling flat on his back. His jaw was clenched—he thrust a hand into his pocket, to hold back from shoving his tongue down Christina’s throat. He couldn’t look at her. The images in his mind weren’t going away. Images of her legs, wrapped around his waist, wrapped around his neck, as he got drunk from burying his tongue in her.

But why in heaven’s name did he want to?

He could get anyone he wanted. He was working in the tourism and resort industry, for fuck’s sake. He had so many contacts. It’d be just a phone call and/or a text message away, for a booty call! He’d just thought to himself that he enjoyed being single. What more was he itching for?

“
You too,” Christina said sweetly, looking him up and down. “I’m of legal age to drink here,” she continued. “18’s the minimum, right?”

His crotch was on fire. “Yes, that’s right.”

Christina was just checking with him. She was already drinking beer and wine from the age of 16, which was legal to do in Switzerland. But she still had yet to get hungover. She drank because she enjoyed savoring the taste of wine, not because she wanted to black out or run away from her inner demons.

18,
he said to himself.
Little Chrissy’s no longer a kid! And we’re not so little anymore…

Andy and Christina walked out to the taxi stand, Andy feeling they were going down the pavement like young lovers on an adventure together.

One of the cab drivers greeted them, and took Christina’s bag, as the siblings got into the cab. The driver was polite and well-dressed, like a business professional.

Andy smiled at Chrissy as she got in, licking his lower lip when he saw a flash of her thigh, as she lifted her leg to climb into the cab. Her thighs were lean and toned as her calves. What was she doing? Preparing for a marathon? He’d always known Christina was a tall girl, but was this what the dowdy clothes had always hidden?

Andy gazed out of the cab, with a glazed look, at the night sky, and the small colored lights that dotted the sides of the asphalt road. He kept on hearing the story a tattooed cab driver with a gruff voice had shared with him, late in the evening, just a few weeks back:

“
Weekends are always the worst—I had a girl puke on the carpet, because she was drunk—I made her pay $40 for the servicing!”

Andy had glanced down at the carpet right away.

“
Another time,” the driver chattered on, “I had a middle-aged man tell me to drive out to this
ulu
(the local slang for “remote,” Andy remembered) spot at 2 a.m., before he took out a knife, and demanded for all my cash—which I gave to him—
ah,
and I had a couple having oral sex the other day—the Malay girl was so young—and the guy was
so noisy!
”

And it was just because Andy had happened to ask the mysterious-looking driver how his day had been. Andy had shifted a little uncomfortably on his seat—
God knows what else I’m sitting on,
he’d thought (he liked clean surroundings)—and watched the passing scenery through the window, giving monosyllabic blips as answers, as the driver continued his tirade on the various quirks of some of his more outstanding customers.

As it so happened, Christina was talking to yet another chatty driver, when the driver gave a laugh.

“
Oh! I thought he was your boyfriend…”

The driver gave a glance over at Andy at the word “he,” via the overhead mirror. Andy wanted to lurch forward and strangle the driver—Andy was sitting right behind him—yet, a part of him deep inside was, incidentally, simultaneously wishing upon the visibly bright Venus star high up in the night sky, for the driver’s casual assumption of their relationship to be an actuality.

Christina gave a schoolgirl kind of giggle, and carried on the conversation with the driver, about the chocolates in Switzerland.

Food.
Had he eaten? Andy couldn’t remember. Why did Christina look so radiant and fresh? Andy always looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, when he was jet-lagged from flying. Christina, on the other hand, was very pert and alert. The driver was clearly fascinated with her charm too. Andy felt middle-aged, next to Christina.

All the talk about food and the focus on the taxi driver was making Andy think about the other cab driver, the one who’d so freely shared the various shenanigans that took place on a regular weekend basis.

Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes,
Andy thought to himself—he could so imagine it, him completely relaxed, his mind going dead—in the good way—with his amazing sister’s ass in his face as she wrapped her glossy pink lips over his woody. What’s more, she was right there, beside him, living, breathing, in the flesh! Now if only, she could strip off that dress, and be in the nude…

Andy gave a sideward glance to Christina, a little nauseous, a little delirious, wrongly thinking that her image in real life might counter the image he was entertaining in his head. He felt so off-center. He was supposed to be a young professional, not a blistering fool in the company of his own non-blood-related relative, who happened to be waking all the cells in his blood.

He could see she was sitting very poised with an incredible grace, leaning slightly in front as she conversed with the driver. Andy was fighting back the urge to squirm around in his seat and cross his legs—it’d be too obvious—and he didn’t hate the driver quite so much now—Christina’s conversation with the driver allowed Andy to focus on what he did want to focus on, without much difficulty.