Frank & John, Not Lovers Ch. 01

tagIncest/TabooFrank & John, Not Lovers Ch. 01

It was 11AM on a Friday. The late summer day was cloudless and bright, the temperature was in the mid-80s, and the air thick with humidity. The young man, recently turned eighteen, glanced down at his phone, noting an address for the tenth time that day. He had just finished walking, with his heavy pack, from the nearest bus stop. It was over a mile distant from where he now stood. Sweat had pooled under his armpits, staining his t-shirt; it was coating, seemingly, every other part of his body, as well. He was standing on the sidewalk in front of a large suburban house, which was painted in a light brown color that matched the majority of nearby houses. He looked up at a brass house number plaque mounted to the right of the front door.
The house number matched the address he had received several weeks earlier, when his latest move was being planned out. He walked up an uneven concrete path, which ran through the wide front lawn. The lawn was spotted with light brown patches and needed both mowing and edging. A few clusters of weeds were beginning to pop up. He knocked on the front door. The door was a whitish-gray and did not match any of the brown shades of paint found on the rest of the house. John recognized the door color as that of primer. The door, most likely, had been replaced at some point without being painted at all. The young man pressed a plastic yellow door bell.
After a long pause, muffled steps could be heard from within. Answering the door was a dark-haired young woman. Like the young man, she had recently turned eighteen. She was two inches shorter than the young man's present height of six feet. She was wearing blue Converse All Stars, inexpensive white cotton crew socks that ended slightly above her ankles, and long blue basketball shorts that ended below her knees. On her torso was a loose-fitting white cotton mens t-shirt above a restrictive, darkly-colored sports bra. Her dark brown, almost black, hair was short: crew-cut length around the sides and back, with longer, slightly wavy, hair on top. Her hair was colored with several purple streaks. Her pale face had a V shape. She had large, slightly widely spaced blue eyes, thin lips, wide mouth, and a small elfin nose with an an almost imperceptible upward curve to its tip. If one looked closely, one could tell she had recently won a battle with acne. Her skin was clear but still slightly rough in spots. She wore no makeup. The young man figured she must have been inside the air-conditioned house all day, as, unlike him, she did not seem to have an ounce of sweat on her.
The young man was so nervous that he failed, at first, to notice the young woman's reaction upon opening the front door. She took a deep, involuntary breath. Her eyelids opened fully, and she took a short step backwards.
"Hi Frank", the young man said. His voice quavered. He was excited to see her, but had also been feeling increasingly nervous over the past few days as he had envisaged this very moment with greater and greater clarity. His nervousness was amplified by a feeling of self-consciousness about his level of perspiration. He felt like someone had just dowsed him with a bucket of warm water.
He finally noticed that the young woman had not said anything yet. The silence seemed awkward and this made him even more nervous.
"John?" Frank said, after a few more beats. Then she seemed to realize how strange her silence must have seemed to him. "Whoa, sorry. You just look so different. I didn't recognize you for a second there!" Her face cleared. "It's great to see you!"
Her voice had transitioned to the deep and even one John remembered. He relaxed slightly. Frank's wide mouth had broken into a broad smile, and, without further hesitation, she wrapped her arms tightly around him in an aggressive hug. John had a large backpacker's pack on his back, heavy with the totality of his worldly possessions. It weighed over fifty pounds. Frank could not get her arms entirely around both John and the bulging pack. Instead she grabbed, with her right hand, a carabiner hanging off one size of the pack. With her left hand, she grabbed the rim of an empty mesh pocket. The pocket should have contained a Nalgene water bottle, but John had recently lost it and could not yet afford its replacement. Frank's grip gave her leverage to pull John tightly towards herself. Their bodies were now plastered together unceremoniously.
Her tightly compressed chest pressed against his torso. John could feel her breasts pushing against him despite the layer of severely restrictive fabric. Despite Frank's unselfconscious hugging, he felt strongly that it would be disrespectful and inappropriate even to think about her breasts. He tried to distract himself by looking, over her shoulder, at a grandfather clock in the shadowy interior of the house. Focusing on the clock failed, however, to prevent his mind from autonomously performing a series of mental calculations and visualizations.
He had last seen Frank without some sort of restrictive sports bra at a family picnic five years earlier. She had been wearing a tank top and a regular bra. Her breasts were then about the size of large apples, and her bra was probably a D-cup, depending on which brand it had been. Images of what her breasts might now look like, having had an additional five years to grow, flooded his consciousness. He visualized whether her breasts at various sizes ranging from cantaloupe to small watermelon. He visualized how high or low they might hang, unimpeded. He imagined how far might protrude from her rib cage, and what cup size she would now need. At least if she ever were to wear a regular bra again. John had never dared to ask her her cup size, nor had he even ever dared to peek into her undergarments drawer, although he had had plenty of opportunities to do so, over the years. As to the present size of her breasts, there was no way to validate his mind's unwelcome estimations. Frank religiously avoided discussing certain aspects of her physical appearance, including anything to do with her bosoms.
Despite his awareness of Frank's feelings on the subject of her chest, and despite intense feelings of taboo, guilt and shame, he had been having a recurring fantasy where he would somehow find out exactly when Frank's breasts hand grown, and by how much, exactly. This fantasy was so compelling, he had trouble dismissing it once it got started. He would imagine asking her for her chest, rib cage, waist and hips measurements. She would willingly tell him. Then she also would send him periodic text messages providing updates over time. Sometimes it would turn out she was now an H- or I-cup. John considered this to be a strong possibility given how large they had been five years earlier. An abbreviated version of this fantasy flashed through his mind. John blushed furiously and was glad Frank could not see his face.
There was a part of his body, however, that he could not hide from her. Along with guilty feelings, John had begun forming an erection. He worried Frank could feel it pressing into her lower abdominal region, but there was no way to pull his hips back without seeming stand-offish and unfriendly. He remained still. If Frank could feel the erection, she gave no sign of being upset, and maintained her powerful embrace for what seemed like minutes. Before letting him go, she planted a long, wet kiss on his right cheek. She then pulled away. John noted that her white shirt and, possibly, her basketball shorts (the latter were too dark to tell) had become damp from contact with his own perspiration-laden attire.
"Well, let's not just stand out here in this fuckin' sauna," Frank said, fanning herself with a theatrical wave of her right hand, "Let's get some beer!"
"Beer would be good," John agreed. His voice was steadier than it had been moments earlier.
John followed Frank into the house and closed the front door behind them. As the door shut, they both forgot about the beer they had just been talking about, and instead started talking simultaneously.
"Hey Frank, I'm really sorry tha-"
"Dude, I'm super sorry–"
"Jinx!"
"Jinx!"
Without pause, John and Frank descended into a "you owe me a Coke" back-and-forth routine, with Frank ultimately coming out on top. John could not remember the last time he had triumphed in one of these competitions. Then they stared at each other. Frank was one of the few people John could comfortably make, and hold, direct eye contact with. Frank, by contrast, had no problem making eye contact with anyone. After a moment of silence, they both burst out laughing.
"Ok, since I apparently now owe you a coke, how about you go first," he said.
"You know that makes no sense, dude. Since you just got owned!" Frank said, emphasizing the word "owned". She quickly reversed tack, however, saying, "Fuck it, whatever, I'll go first." Frank loved using foul language. John realized that he had missed this aspect of her personality, along with some other quirky mannerisms.
Frank dove back in to elaborating on her aborted apology. "So Mari being my first girlfriend and all, I guess, you know how it is, we were just like totally wrapped up with each other. My other friends were givin' me shit about disappearing on them too."
John took a moment to catch up with the conversation, as Frank had not provided any context. Mari was the girl whom Frank had started dating two years ago. It was right before John's parents moved his family to a different city, where they had taken over an upscale Italian restaurant. Mari's estimated body measurements immediately surfaced in John's mind, "32-24-33". He also remembered she was shorter than Frank, around five feet two inches tall at the time. John inwardly chastised himself, "Control yourself, dude. It's Frank's freakin' ex for Christ's sake!"
Frank, unaware of John's internal struggle, continued, "And then with your family moving away and all, I just felt, I dunno, awkward just texting you. And I figured you probably had a girlfriend too by then or some kind of exciting social life and were too busy for me or something. And then the longer I waited the more awkward it was to just like text you out of the blue. I thought maybe you were mad at me? But I'm super sorry, I think I was kinda being a self-centered dick if I'm honest about it," Frank said. "I actually missed you a lot, pretty much the whole time… Well, okay, not for the first six months, Mari and I were too wrapped up in each other," Frank added.
Now it was John' turn to complete his apologia. "It's my fault too, probably more than yours! I was, yeah, kind of hurt when you started hanging out with Mari so much, but I also couldn't really blame you so. Mostly I just felt dumb, y'know? But maybe I was kinda mad too. But anyway for sure I would have done the same thing," John blurted out in awkward jumble of words, at first wishing he had composed his thoughts first. On the other hand, he knew from experience that Frank was not a judgmental person, and would have seen through any artifice on his part. Blurting things was, on balance, perhaps for the best. "And then once we moved away I was so focused on grades and stuff. I was studying until midnight most nights, AP classes, trying to get into that UIUC program. And my parents basically dumped my little sisters on me because they were too busy with the frickin' restaurant to be, you know, parents? I got so wrapped up in all that I kind of lost track of everyone up here."
"Well, I still blame myself more. And I'm glad you got into that program!" Frank said enthusiastically.
"Yeah, I was on the waiting list at first, which was, fuck, completely fuckin' devastating! But then they called me up a few weeks later and said they'd had enough cancellations. It was like the best day of my life!"
"That's cool, you were always so smart when we were at Longford, even if it was annoying! Fuckin' smarty pants!" Frank laughed and punched his arm. "So was I wrong about your amazing social life?"
John had been expecting to be grilled about this topic. Frank could be like a bulldog, when she felt like it, and would dig for details relentlessly, especially when she was worried about him. John paused as he decided how much to reveal for now. He prided himself on never lying to Frank. "I'll reveal the truth," he thought, "but not the whole truth."
"Let's just say that high school girls aren't that interested in guys a whole year younger than them. Well, unless the guy looks like Vin Diesel. Then they'll make an exception. But I was this freakin' scrawny geek. Plus I didn't know anyone, since we'd just moved. The only group I really connected with was with my fellow geeks," John said.
"Well how about college though? College chicas?" Frank asked hopefully. "You're not exactly scrawny any more."
Part of why Frank had done a double take when she opened the front door was that John's body looked so different. He was taller, had broader shoulders, and was slightly more muscular all around, although not to the point of looking truly athletic. Frank was already thinking about how to fix that.
John's face had changed even more than the rest of him. He looked familiar to her, but not at all like he did two years ago. Although John was not traditionally handsome, Frank knew with certainty that some women would find his face irresistible. He looked like the lead singer in a punk band. "Or, at least, he would if he were not such an nerd," Frank thought. She was already thinking about how to fix that, too.
John was unsure what Frank had meant about his build. Although he had started lifting weights, he did not feel that he had made appreciable progress. He felt scrawny. "There were some really hot 'chicas' at UI, for sure," John said. "But pretty much the same problem as before. I mean, yeah, other freshmen were in the same boat as me. I mean they didn't know more people. But being at least a year younger than all the girls I was interested in was a big disadvantage."
Frank noted John's glum expression as he relayed all this to her. "Weren't there any girls in the same program as you though? They'd be the same age right?" she asked.
"Yeah, I guess there were some girls my age, but they, uh," John paused, seeming awkward again, "weren't my type I guess."
Frank eyes widened and she quirked her mouth to the side. To John's surprise, however, she changed the subject. "Hey, so are you hungry?" Frank said.
It was approaching noon and John was indeed feeling hungry. He was also sure of two other feelings, as well. First, he needed a shower and clean, dry clothes. The house's powerful central air conditioning, in tandem with his soaked-through clothes, was starting to give him the chills. He was also worried about his body odor; he must be reeking by now. His other firm conviction was to not, under any circumstances, allow Frank to prepare lunch for them. Or in fact prepare any meal for the foreseeable future.
"I am hungry, but I need a shower. And under no circumstances will I let you to make lunch for us. Unless you've been taking cooking classes for the last two years?"
"Me? Hell no!" Frank said with finality. She was unfazed about being banned from cooking; they had had the same conversation many times before. "Arright, hurry up with your fuckin' shower because I'm fuckin' famished! Here, let me show you where you're gonna crash."
They had yet to leave the small hallway area immediately inside the house. Off to the left was a large formal living room with an L-shaped dark brown leather couch. Facing the couch, from the opposite wall, was a large flat-screen TV. John estimated it to be 75 inches along the diagonal.
"Whoa, when'd you guys get that TV?" John wondered aloud.
"About a year ago. Mom got a huge settlement when her and Will split up and this was kinda like retail therapy I think."
"Please tell me she subscribed to the Brewers on MLB.TV?" John asked.
"Well duh! I don't even know what that is but you know that's a dumb question with mom involved." Frank said flatly.
They walked through the living room. John wondered if he should have taken off his dusty shoes as they crossed the white wool carpet. He could still see the tell-tale stripes left behind by a vacuum cleaner. Frank did not ask him to take off his shoes, though, and had not taken hers off, either. On the other side of the living room was a door opening onto a long hallway. As they passed through, Frank gestured towards the first door on the left.
"That's where you're crashing. Sorry, it's like the noisiest room here."
"Shit, Frank, don't worry, I'm so grateful to you guys. I'm just happy to have a place to stay near school. You're like saints or something. I'm so sorry I can't pay you guys yet but I'll scrape up the cash."
Frank was smiling again. "Silly man, you already are going to pay us. Keep your cash for yourself. Remember all that work you signed up for? Mom's made a list. It's a smokin' deal for us."
"Ok, fair enough," John was smiling too. He did not actually believe there would really be enough work to cover the what he ought to be paying them for room and board, but then again, he had not seen this "list" yet.
"Plus, we get to hang out," Frank said. "I've been really looking forward to that. And mom, well she's on a whole 'nother level. She's fuckin' giddy that you're staying with us."
"Me? Really? Why?" John was confused.
Frank continued, "She's been fluttering around the house for weeks getting ready for you. That's why it's so clean in here," Frank said, gesturing back towards the living room. John recalled that neither Frank nor her mom had ever been tidy people.
Then Frank's smile, which had not left her face since they had hugged, suddenly disappeared. "She's had kind of a rough year."
"The divorce?" John asked.
"Yeah, it hit her hard. But then she started dating right away, even though I told her not to. But she was in rebound mode and wasn't exactly picking the best men," Frank said flatly
"It's really been that bad?"
"Yup, it really has. Every guy she shacked up with was selfish, alcoholic, abusive, criminal, or some combination of those. So then she sorta gave up on men. Cold turkey. Now she's been moping around. She's the type of chica that needs a dude around."
John thought about this. He counted two husbands and three boyfriends that Debbie had had at various times. He could not remember her ever being single. She also, as he recalled, liked well-built guys. John could not think of a single one of them that he had not found physically imposing, although they were always nice to him.
"Well, I'm glad I can help?" John' voice rose unnaturally. "But I don't think I fit your mom's type," he added, trying again to sound jokey.
He had been trying to hide an uncontrollable sense of concern, mingled with excitement, that he began to feel as Frank relayed all this news about her mom. But his attempt to sound casual came out wrong, and he was sure Frank had noticed. He had fantasized about Debbie regularly for many years, and as recently as the previous night. As with his fantasies about Frank, his fantasies about Debbie usually involved measuring her body in some way. In real life, he estimated, her body measured 39-28-35. Now he was fantasizing again. Fantasy Debbie provided Fantasy John, a much more muscular version of himself, an index card on which "39-28-35" was written with a Sharpie. He unconsciously let the conversation drop.
Frank's brow furrowed. She knew from long experience that John often acted weird when Debbie came up in conversation. She snapped her fingers, loudly, right in front of his nose, in order to re-focus his attention.
"Dude, you have to get your confidence up; stop living in the past," she said.
Although John did not understand what she meant, he was eager to rinse off. He opted not to try and get Frank to clarify. He followed her into his new room. Walking behind her for the first time that day, his eyes involuntarily slid down towards her ass. With her baggy, straight-cut men's t-shirt and generous basketball shorts, it was difficult to get a sense of what her figure really looked like. But even this outfit could not hide her well-rounded ass. She had clearly been doing glute exercises, as John estimated her rear was a good two inches wider around than it used to be. Frank, apparently having eyes in the back of her head, turned around and, with her hand at eye level, snapped her fingers once more.

Report Story

byNervyPleat© 0 comments/ 0 views/ 1 favoritesSubmit bug reportNext2 Pages:12