Summer Hours in Spandex

Really, it's quite misleading to call her volleyball shorts, shorts.
When one thinks of shorts, a picture of fabric hanging off of hips with
pockets and gaps for legs forms in the head. What she's wearing doesn't
hang off anything but envelopes her, like the tight wrapper of a
tootsie-roll, squeezing out the curvature of candy inside. It doesn't
have loops or pockets. She just has one sheet of stretchy slicky
material around her. One thin sheet. No gaps can be found. Synthetic
fibers are stretched to her bronze skin. Pulled to a tight seal around
her firm thighs. What she has on is a fine Spandex glove of her
ass.


He sits on the couch, watching some dull afternoon sitcom run
on, holding an unaffected gaze as she passes him by. She strolls to the
kitchen to grab a nick knack of some kind. Then perkily, she skips back
to her room, passing the couch with her back to him. He is afforded a
complete view of her full butt, bouncing in perky measure to her light
feet, sun shimmering off her black spandex, going up and down and up
again, left side, right side then left again. It produces a form of
hypnosis to his eyes.



He's thought about the female buttocks before. Of course in the crude,
possibly less honorable sense, in bed on countless nights raptured in
sweaty drives and flexed arm muscles. But also, he's reflected on the
perplexing object on a more objective level. What is it, that makes a
common mound of muscles, planted on the backside of a person of the
opposite gender, so profoundly enticing? The only explanation he could
produce was a manipulation of evolution's power over the human race. No
matter how far religious leaders told him humans were from animals, all
that keep in his mind the thought that he would be a hopeless animal
forever was that forced carnal fascination with the female
buttock.



And fascination to him seemed like an understatement when it came to
the specific buttock of her. She had a perfection, an amazing rarity
materialized into the form like none other he'd seen. And he didn't
doubt that this kind of fixation and obsession over her backside had
been aided by the many years he'd been exposed to her since his early
pubescent stages. He was first made known of her when her father became
engaged to his mother and likewise his father to her mother. After a
few months both sets of parents had been officially wed, and they
became official step siblings.



They had grown up together, attending the same family events and
outings on both sides. Having both parents interlocked to each other,
they were somewhat more "blooded" than traditional step-siblings. The
summer after his high school graduation he moved into the house that
his father lived in with his step-mom and her. He was staying there
before he moved up to college.





"What'cha watching there?" She had come back from the kitchen
holding a spoon and smiling wide with her glitter red lips, hands on
hips. He wasn't sure if he liked them glittered up like that. He kept
his gaze fixed to the TV. In the corner of his eyes, the curving
outline of her spandex could be seen against the sun from the window in
the kitchen.


"Golden Girls."


She turned back to her room and he turned his eyes back to
her ass. He could feel the rise. The un-sticking of skin on skin. The
growth filling in his cotton shorts.


"What's the spoon for?!" he called after her.


"I'm eating breakfast!" she called back.


"Wow, a little late to be eating breakfast? You must have
been out late last night."


"Whatever! I was home last night. You just went to bed
early." He loved to get her riled up. And what an easy job it was. She
loved getting riled up by him. He could see the flicker of itching
energy in her green eyes, twitching to get out, when she was in the
mood.


"Wow, Kristen was actually home for one night instead of
working the boys?"



He could hear a gasp of protest and excitement and a quick step on the
carpet after he spoke. A second later she was out of her room and half
way across to the couch, releasing a screeching laugh?
"I'm not a slut!" Kristen screamed through her wild smile as she jumped
onto him.



Her arms swung down into him. He yelled as she knocked him back against
the couch, her legs sliding up over his. Her spandex felt cool against
his bare skin. She screamed and growled and shrieked and convoluted
violently on top of him, her blonde hair thrashing like rays of sun
through a spining forest. He swiftly grabbed her thin delicate wrists
from the air and encased them both in one hand. She screamed and
struggled to get free. With the other he reached down across her back
and slid his fingers under her spandex. Finding swirlly lace, he
gripped the pink panties and pulled them up the small of her flexed
back.



She screamed a scream which dwarfed the others and began wrenching her
body back and forth on his, wide eyed and frantically captivated.




They wrestled on the couch then fell onto the floor and wrestled there.
She screamed and he laughed. She dug her nails into his chest. He
pinned her down and gave her Charlie Horses. She bit his neck. He bit
her arms and they both loved it.