porn, super porn
sisters, sex, sugar
2004-05-19 | 2:05 p.m.

sam and me in the chicago airport

Sisters, us, were flying home from Chicago a few days ago; I hate flying and alternated between reading, drinking, and monitoring Sam for any remote signs of life. She was draped over both of us, arms akimbo, a look of comatose sorrow on her face as she mumbled incoherently about something called a 'prom.' I was about to pour a glass of water on her face when she suddenly bolted upright in her chair, staring intently at a young, insolent whippersnapper with a brooding lip and a glaring eye who ended up sitting... surprise, surprise... directly behind us, and before you can say 'teen pregnancy,' Sam had tumbled over the seat to sit and flirt with this hormonally-addled boy. This is the kind of teenage boy that would have thrown rocks at me in school, the kind of teenage boy that has the impunity to invite my sister to a 'big-ass kegger' right in front of me. As I listened to them babble to eachother, it slowly dawned on me that my sister does not, in fact, have two potentially cancerous tumors growing on her chest, but is actually growing breasts, which are like bright beacons that wildly beckon to any man old enough to inseminate her. This makes me profoundly uncomfortable. Boys boys boys boys boys. Boys like girls and girl bodies, people get this and make appropriate advertising campaigns that feature nice girl bodies, which boys see and like, which girls see as a clear path of emulation, which is why my sister spends her spare time in her room, plumping her breasts like pillows and fantasizing about being asked to the prom, which is why times square is plastered with ads of women spreading their legs and squeezing their breasts and pouting and blushing in all kinds of ridiculous ways, and men complain about the superficiality behind mass advertising these days. Sam has no father, which means she looks to men and boys for encouragement and self-worth. Sam is a slob, but her makeup is perfectly organized, arranged, coordinated. Sam is dating, which means that boys take her off in their cars to quiet, dark places and then brag later to their friends about which proverbial base they reached. Sam is dating, which means I am a nervous wreck, I can already see myself at the local police precinct identifying her body. Once I was flying to Germany beside a friend and a drunk stranger, and he slipped his hand quickly under my shirt and I stood up and screamed my head off. A few days ago I was getting a tattoo as I listened to the tattoo artist and his friend talk about how sexual attraction was everything, personality was nothing, what ever happened with the skinny chick you met at the concert? I want to meet someone that moves through life like an autonomous orb of light. When I was fifteen, I wondered how on earth I would ever meet someone that wasn't superficial, and I mused that I would simply offer to sleep with everyone I came across and the person to turn me down would be mine. I didn't do that, I went on awkward coffee dates and slapped hands away. My sister showed up one night with a purplish bruise on her neck. I was reading laughable loves on the plane while my sister talked with her ridiculous boy aquaintance, all women are the same, winter is summer, the days melt together. I am just being ridiculously overprotective, I realize, but if anything ever happens to Sam, I will be cynical beyond all recognition.

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