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push-up bra, wear pounds of make-up, or be overtly sexual to get that message across.
Most of him would die, if he did mention something, and freaked Christina out good. That would damage what they had as friends and siblings. Did he really want lust to get in the way of something that needed no fixing?
He didn’t think she’d tell everyone she knew about it—if he did “make a move.” She respected him that way. But it wouldn’t be the same. She might never get close to him again. The torture from a comforting hug was better than no hug at all.
Or was it?
And he’d kill himself if he raped her, if only because he “couldn’t stop himself.” He’d consider it a pathetic excuse. But what was one to do, when one was simply following the directions of one’s most important organ?
It didn’t look good even if Christina did, miraculously, reciprocate. Would it be a one-off thing? Or turn into something addictive?
Andy closed his eyes, taking a long deep breath, as he stood in front of his apartment room door.
“ Meiiiii! ”
He jolted to his senses when the neighbor’s kids came running out to head off to the swimming pool. They were a brother and sister, maybe about 3 years apart. They were pretty rough-and-tumble most of the time. They usually referred to each other as “mei” (little sister) and “kor” (older brother). They called Andy “the tall Swiss man.”
The girl and boy gave a wave to Andy; he gave a slow obligatory wave back, noting how close they always seemed to be. In terms of both friendship, as well as physical proximity.
Nuttesohn—the punk son of a bitch! Andy had seen the brother tackling the sister a few times, on the public corridor space. It was in good humor and not out of violence, of course, or he would have talked some sense into the boy, and/or informed the kids’ grandmother, who was a kind and friendly woman, living with the kids in the same house.
Andy kept looking at the brother and sister, walking off in the other direction, till they turned a corner. The sister had the brother’s head in a light, playful headlock.
Being a kid was so much easier.
Andy wished he could annihilate his lust, and start all over. At the moment, he only saw Christina as a sexual being, which overshadowed knowing her as his friend and sister.
Andy had a wild solution: he wanted to purge and get rid of the temptation, by yielding to it. It came almost as a kind of epiphany. After all, human behavior, like physics, flowed along the path of least resistance.
Andy stepped into his house, leaving the hectic non-stop-activity world that he knew outside, and entering the unknown and unexpected that enveloped his own living space. He’d thought of his own house that way ever since she’d gotten here, which was slightly less than a mere 24 hours ago.
He was in a slight headspin—he thought he was hearing things at first. There was a hypnotic tune in the background, with a powerful thub-thumping drum and bass beat—when he recognized the track from one of his CDs: Bamboo Banga by the British rapper, M.I.A. It was an energizing dance/electronica track regularly used on fashion runways around the world, a song both he and Christina enjoyed spacing out to. If they listened to it enough times on repeat, they’d feel so giddy they’d no longer feel a sense of connection to what was going on in the real world.
He found Christina seated in the kitchen. Her soft, blonde hair fell gently over her shoulders. Except for the tip of her nose, her hair covered most of the delicate features of her small, pretty face.
She was languidly sipping on a glass of red wine. Andy thought she’d opened one of his bottles, but realized she had gotten it from one of the duty-free shops at the airport.
The lights were dimmed. Her white hand looked as delicate and fragile as the glass she held. But he wasn’t fooled. Her sexual energy still simmered underneath, all the more strongly, in the warm, inviting glow of