Just the Human Form
IT’S EARLY BUT WHEN YOU work in construction you wake up early and it’s a habit I can’t seem to break on the weekends. I’ve been very careful to be quiet and not wake Betsy. Our home is relatively large for San Francisco, but it’s still close quarters. I’ve ground the beans for coffee wrapped in a towel but it’s still loud. I hear someone upstairs moving around but I can’t tell who. Jack could sleep until noon or later if I let him. It’s my pleasure as his older brother to not let him. I spend a good chunk of my early mornings coming up with new ways to wake him up.
It backfired on me a few times. One morning Jack set his alarm and got up before I did. So, when I went in to attach clothespins to his toes, he was pretending to be asleep. Before I realized what was happening, he had me briefly pinned to the floor and attached the clothespins to my earlobes. The best wake-up ever was when I had Frank help me carry him outside to one of our loungers and it started to pour rain. Jack is a heavy sleeper and is easily moved while sleeping. I found this handy when he was little and would fall asleep in the car or in a restaurant or anywhere really. I’ve never known anyone as good at sleeping as Jack.
The coffee machine beeps and when I turn to get milk from the fridge, I see the person who is awake and it’s not Jack. Betsy stands in front of me in pajama pants with an X-Men print and a white tank top. I’ve been cataloging her tattoos when I see a new one and this morning, I’m seeing a whole new sleeve. Her right arm is free of tattoos and her left is full. There are all kinds of flowers intertwined along her arm, leading to her chest. What I’m seeing for the first time as well is that there’s a hidden black snake woven throughout the blooms.
My head lifts from its probably inappropriate perusal to find her smirking at me. “Morning, Joe,” she says and yawns. “You are too cute down here trying to be quiet. Please don’t worry about waking me. If I’m up, I’m up, if I need to sleep, I won’t wake up even if you’re banging pans together.”
I smile. “So, you’re like my brother then. He can sleep through a chainsaw if he’s tired enough.”
“Is this something you know from experience or hyperbole?”
“Let’s just say I’ve had to come up with some creative wake up calls for my dear bro in order to get him to school on time,” I say. “There was one time with a chainsaw and I put safety glasses on both of us before I fired it up. Didn’t work until I turned it off. He woke up because of the quiet.”
“You guys are extreme,” she says.
“I guess.” I shrug and pull out two mugs for coffee, fill them and hand her one and the milk. “We basically were without parental supervision and even though I was the guardian, I wasn’t all that responsible. Kept him alive though.” I blow on my coffee and take a sip.
“You did a great job, Joe, don’t let anyone ever tell you differently.” She takes a sip of her coffee and beams a smile at me. “Joe makes some good joe.”
“Thanks, you want some cheesy eggs?” I ask. “You can tell me all about burlesque dancing while I cook.”
She sighs and shakes her head. “I had a really great night last night, I normally dance to Portishead or Massive Attack, but last night I broke free of my trip-hop ways and shook my ass to some Prince.”
“Are you serious about me coming to see you?” I ask, cracking eggs into a bowl. “I’d love to see you dance, but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
She slaps her knee and bends over laughing. Eventually, she slides to the floor from her stool in hysterics.
“Oh, Joe, I’m sorry, but I forget that we don’t know each other all that well,” she says this as she stands, pulls her tank over her head and drops her pants. Betsy is completely nude in front of me.
I’m speechless and I’m sure that was her goal. I’m not sure where to look so I focus in on her ear. That’s a lie, I totally check her out. She is curvy and smooth and so colorful, everywhere. Her tits are so perfect that it’s hard to believe they are real, but they are. I find the head of the snake, jaws wide open set to strike her perfectly pink nipple. Below her navel is where the garden of delights begins. All of her tattoos “root” here. Below is her bare pussy and I only take the most cursory glance at it but it’s just as beautiful as the rest of her. When you see her with clothes you can tell that her ink is gorgeous and well done. With no clothes, it’s a revelation. She is a living piece of artwork. Her legs are covered in an intricate web of roots and they look very realistic, a contrast to the dreamy watercolor of the florals that decorate her chest, back and left arm. She spins in place and I get a fast glimpse of her fantastic heart-shaped ass, I’m not sure what I did to deserve this display, or Betsy as a friend, but I’m thankful.
“My first impression stands,” I say. “Visual feast.”
She curtsies and picks up her clothes, slowly and un-self-consciously puts them back on. “As a dancer, that’s exactly what I’m going for. I don’t want anyone to take their eyes off me when I’m dancing.”
“Clearly you are achieving your goal, especially by disrobing suddenly,” I say, not sure what to do with my hands.
She gives me a pitying smile and pats my shoulder. “Get used to it, I told you I was one of those kids that ran around the house naked and have just never stopped. My parents were horrified but eventually ignored me. I think I’m a nudist at heart. I’m most comfortable wearing nothing but I do love clothes and lingerie that accentuate my body,” she yawns again and takes a big swig of her coffee. “So, you don’t need to worry about me feeling weird about you coming to see me dance. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you there.”
“Noted. I will make an effort to come see you when I can,” I say, knowing I’ll put it off, I’m having a lot of feelings right now after seeing her nude for like 15 seconds. I’m having a hard time (mentally and physically) wrapping my head around seeing her dance and be partially unclothed for a longer period of time. “You should come see my band when you can too. We are playing this Tuesday at Bix if you’re free.”
“I only dance Thursday through Saturday so I’d love to come see you guys play.” I dish out the eggs I’ve made along with some partially burnt toast.
“I’m not the greatest cook, but I am a master griller,” I say as I hand her the plate.
“This looks great, thanks so much, Joe, for everything. You’re saving my ass a ton of money and I get to pretend that I have brothers.”
I place my plate on the island bar that took me three weeks to build and turn to her with my hands on my hips. “You can pretend to be related to Jack, but you and I are not siblings. Especially now that I know what you look like naked,” I wink and I don’t care that I’m not allowed.
“Noted, but I’m over here waiting for you to show me yours,” she says with a shrug and shovels a mouthful of eggs into her beautiful mouth.
Well, what do you think I’m going to do? Of course, I pull my tee over my head and drop my sweats to the ground. She swallows her bite of food and I can tell she didn’t think I had that in me.
“Dude, I hope you’re a grower because that’s embarrassing to the family,” my brother says as he walks into the kitchen, grabs a mug and fills it with coffee. I give him a sheepish smile as I pull my pants back up and tuck my definite non-embarrassing dick into them. “Good morning, adults, what the fuck is going on?”
“Just some show and tell, Jack, but maybe with a little more show than tell,” Betsy says with a chuckle.
“Ugh, you two are weird. Wait. Did I miss you showing, Bets?” he asks, eyes wide.
“You did, little bro and Betsy won’t be repeating hers.”
She shrugs, “I’ll try to keep my nudity to my room but I make no promises.”
Jack’s eyes are still wide and he looks a little stunned. “I just turned 18 so I’m sure that’s kosher.”
Betsy covers her face with her hands. “Now I feel like some old lady perv.”
“Eggs?” I ask Jack trying to change the subject.
“Yes, please.”
We all sit and eat our food and chat about what we are doing today. Betsy is doing laundry, super happy to use our washer and dryer instead of going to the laundromat. Jack is going to school for a study group and yours truly is doing some yard work and then playing music and maybe reading.
“Can I buy you lunch?” Betsy asks me.
“Only if it’s Ichi for sushi,” I respond.
“Feeling like some raw fish, are ya?” she asks wryly.
“Yep, and I thought you’d maybe be interested in one of their hot dogs,” I say and waggle my eyebrows.