Lyrics to We Rap More Mellow by Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five (1979)
Everyone, no matter how logical or rigid, needs an artistic outlet, whether they know it or not. Music, art, writing, and, indeed, every other form of creative expression is one half of a natural and healthy whole. Being too severe is just as bad as being too flippant. The successful and well-adjusted person must strike a happy balance without erring too much to one side.
That perfect medium is harder to achieve than one might think, for everyone is born with a predisposition toward silly or sober. Luan, for instance, struggled to take things seriously. She was the kind of person who would make sport of anything, even topics that no person in their right mind would find humorous. On the opposite end of the spectrum was Lori. A grown woman nearing thirty, Lori worked for a law firm in Boston, was married to her high school sweetheart Bobby Santiago, and had two children. She was stressed, harried, and goal-oriented. She did not suffer frivilaties lightly and kept her eyes firmly on the prize, as it were. Even she, however, needed to unwind, and did so through the art of origami.
Yes, everyone has a creative outlet.
And Lisa's was rap.
Rap music is closely linked to poetry in its cadence and rhyming structure. It contains a logical framework in which to operate, and that appealed to Lisa, who was drawn to order. Everything, you will notice, has its own inherent rule of order, from science to fiction. The parameters of music are more clearly defined than others. A musician sets a cadence for himself that he must adhere to, because crossing them will subvert and ruin the flow of the song.
She liked rap specifically for its intricate and complicated rhyming the likes of which you don't often find in other forms of music.
The beats were nice as well. They made her want to get up and move.
Since she was a little girl, Lisa had secretly wanted to become a rapper herself. She did not envision herself rapping as a primary career, but she still entertained fantasies of smoking sucker MCs on stage and being cheered for doing so. When she wasn't doing research or running experiments,she wrote raps. Inspired by the series Epic Rap Battles of History, she mentally pitted famous scientific figures against one another and composed each one's part with glee. When she was frustrated by someone - say, her older sister Lola, who had to be the most arrogant and self-obsessed person on the face of the earth - she would linger over a diss track listing every one of their flaws and attacking their very character. LOL. She enjoyed laboring within the comforting confines of the poetic form and thrilled at the bravado ingrained in rap music. She was a fairly reserved person who bit her tongue more often than she didn't, and she greatly admired the swagger of rap.
She recorded several of her raps and was surprised that, on playing them back, she sounded decent. Oh. she was unmistakably a fourteen year old white girl, but a fourteen year old white girl who could rap.
Last month, on a whim, she signed up to compete in a school talent show. She had completed an original rap and practiced it until she could recite it from memory. She was confident that she could competently deliver it, but during rehearsals, she discovered something about herself. She could talk the talk, but she could not walk the walk. In a backwards baseball cap and baggy jeans, a gold chain around her neck, she "looked a fool." She crossed her arms and leaned back as if to do the Rockaway, but she looked even more foolish. No matter what she did, it came off as stiff and contrived. She supposed she could just wear normal clothing and rap from the chair (or stand perfectly still in front of the mic), but she wanted to pay tribute to hip hop culture.
She needed a mentor, someone to teach her how to be "urban."
Scouring both the internet and a Royal Woods phonebook (she was stunned that they still produced these things), she located a DJ who lived six blocks north of her home. His name was MC Supa Stan and his LinkedIn profile showed a black man in a white T and backwards snapback, rings on every finger and a gold cross around his neck. He was the epitome of cool. After school one day, she went to the address she copied from his website, a tiny ranch house with an even tinier yard. She knocked and Super Stan answered. "Yeah?"
Lisa adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. "I require your help in affecting an urban attitude. I will compensate you for your time, of course."
He knitted his brow. "Huh?"
One of Lisa's only flaws was speaking in a prolix manner. Lola said she sounded like a textbook, and though Lisa resented that assertion, it was not without merit. She did use more words than she needed, and those words were always needlessly "big."
She explained what she wanted.
"Sorry," Supa Stan said, "but I'm out the game now."
"You are?" Lisa asked incredulously.
"I retired this morning. Imma focus on my true love: Writing romance paperbacks."
Lisa's shoulders slumped disappointedly.
"I do know someone who might be able to help you, though," he said, "he's the brother that trained me. He lives in Riverwood."
Riverwood was a low income housing development on Martin Luther King Blvd. It wasn't dangerous and crime-ridden like a real hood (South Central or Compton), but it was the closest thing Royal Woods had to a ghetto.
She thanked Supa Stan for his time and returned home, as the sun was setting and her parents required her and her siblings to be indoors before dark. The next day, following the conclusion of her school day, she walked the eight blocks to Riverwood. A massive stone building, it rose over its surroundings like a mountain. She glanced at the memo pad on her phone and frowned. Supa Stan's description of his mentor gave her pause. She didn't think twice when he gave it to her, but now she was beginning to wonder if had played a joke on her.
Rounding a corner, she skidded to a halt. Ahead, bathed in the looming shadow of Riverwood, a group of black men stood on the corner, one with an ancient boombox perched on his shoulder. His head nodded to the music, and his body swayed so lightly that he probably didn't realize he was doing it.
And ever since I rocked at my very first party
I felt I could make myself somebody
It was something in my heart from the very start
I could see myself, at the top of the chart
Rapping on the mic, making cold cold cash
With a jock spinning for me called DJ Flash
The man she had come to see stood head and shoulders above the rest. He took a swig from a bottle of Colt .45 and handed it to a black man in a funky white and black zebra print coat.
Like a .357 pointed towards your head
'Cause Keith Cowboy just about ready for the bed
So pull back your covers and take off your pants
'Cause Cowboy'll make you dance
Lisa looked from her phone to him and back again.
So Supa Stan wasn't lying.
Grandmaster Dino really did wear a dinosaur suit.
Taking a deep breath, Lisa walked up to him and craned her head back to see his face. He looked down at her with a fixed expression of distaste. "You lost, lil girl?" he asked.
"I require...I mean...I need your help."
Dino took another pull from his bottle and handed it to a man in a red leather vest. "What for?" he asked.
"I am an aspiring rapper," Lisa explained, "and I need someone to teach me how to be 'about that life.' DJ Supa Stan said you could help me."
The dinosaur and his friends looked at her for a moment...then burst out laughing. The man in the zebra print coat waved her off, the man in the leather jacket fell back a step, and Dino hung his head and shook it slowly from side to side. Lisa's face flushed with indignation and her hands balled into fists. "You? Rap?" Dino asked. "Nigga, please, look at you."
"I assure you, I can rap," Lisa said tightly.
They laughed even harder. "Let me hear," Dino said, "let me hear."
Lisa cleared her throat and spat a few bars knocking Dino and his friends, rhyming "cheap striped jacket" with "overhyped faggot" and "Dino" with "washed up wino." The man in the zebra coat gaped and the guy in the leather jacket thoughtfully stroked his chin. Dino crossed his arms over his broad, scaly chest and looked down at her like a king considering the meager offering of a lowly subject. When she was done, he tilted his head from side to side and let out a long, low hum. "How old you is?"
"Fourteen."
Dino looked at the man in the leopard print coat. "What'chu think, Scorp?"
"I heard worse."
Dino turned his attention back to Lisa and nodded. "'Ight. You tryna learn how to be hood, huh?"
"Affirmative."
"First lesson. Niggas don't say affirmative. We ain't stupid, we know what it means, but we don't speak like we went to Harvard even if we did. Scorp got a BA in bidness but he street."
Scorp nodded. "That's how it is."
"Next lesson, stand yo ass up straight. You all hunched over and shit, nigga, uh-huh. We don't stoop. We stand tall, nigga, cuz we run this shit."
Lisa threw her shoulders back and stood up straight. "Next lesson. Walk yo ass down to the corner store and get me a cold drink."
"How is that -?"
"You tryna learn or what, homegirl?"
"Okay, okay."
Even though she suspected Dino was simply using her and that this wasn't part of a lesson at all, Lisa walked to the corner store and bought Dino a Coke from a big turban clad Arab man who tracked her with his eyes the whole time like he was afraid she was going to steal something. When she returned, Dino and his minions were dancing to the music.
From the shores of Japan to the promised land
They call me Melle Mel, because I'm
The boss talker, spliffy walker, the native New Yorker
With big time clientele, you see
I'm the cool-out prince, been rocking ever since
I got down with DJ Flash
Lisa held out the Coke but Dino ignored her. She waited a full thirty seconds before clearing her throat.
"Dance, nigga," he ordered.
That gave Lisa pause. "I don't know how to dance."
"I don't give a fuck, do it."
Sighing, Lisa sat the Coke down. She took a deep breath and started to sway from side to side, shoulders stiff. "Let the beat flow through yo ass," Dino said. "Get loose, nigga, loose."
"How?"
"Get the stick out yo white ass, that's how."
Lisa allowed herself to go limp, then started to dance again. She focused on the funky beat and soon, she loosened up. Her movements weren't so wooden anymore and her feet thawed. Dino did an impressive backflip and Scorp flopped on a piece of cardboard like a demon-possessed worm. The others did their own moves and Lisa couldn't help being impressed. They were all quite good.
Then there was her.
"I feel like an idiot," she said.
Dino moonwalked past. "That's yo problem. You care what other niggas think. A real nigga don't give a fuck."
I'ma captivate this, saturate it
The non-sophisticated
The bell ringing, the morning singing
Earth-quaking, the disco shaking
Heart-breaking, money-making
The humdinger, the baby bringer
The man with the terrible middle finger
Never to miss the sounds
And that, Lisa reflected, was what drew her to hip hop culture. The boundless confidence that melted inhibitions and made it possible not to care what other people thought of you. Taking a deep breath, she made a concerted effort to shed her self-consciousness and began to dance again. Dino clapped his hands and spun in a circle, then jumped back. Lisa copied him move for move, pulling it off flawlessly. Scorp spun on his head and Dino did another backflip. Lisa tried and sprawled on the sidewalk, where she laid, too embarrassed to move.
"Get yo ass back up," Dino said.
"But -"
"Ain't no one care."
Lisa got back to her feet.
A crowd of people gathered around to watch, some clapping rhymically to the music and others cheering the dancers on. Lisa ignored them and worried about herself. Gradually, it got easier and easier and by the time the song ended, she wasn't self-conscious anymore. The audience erupted into applause, and Dino crossed his arms, leaning slightly back. "Word," he said.
The people drifted away, and Dino clapped Lisa on the back. "That's the heart of hip-hop," he said. "Not givin a fuck what other people think. See, it be like this. We grow up on these streets. These streets go hard. The street don't care. We on our own. See that nigga over there?" He pointed to a black man with one pant leg rolled up and a red bandanna tied around his forehead.
"Yes," Lisa said.
"You think he care about you?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. No, she supposed, he didn't. "That nigga is out for himself and for himself only, cuz ain't no one else out for him. Maybe his homeboys, but that's it. Livin in the hood will teach you that you're on your own. You live in the burbs?"
Did Franklin Avenue count as the suburbs?
"Yes," she said at length.
"When push come to shove, people are selfish," Dino said. "They gots to be. In the burbs, everyone got what they need, so they all smilin and happy. But put 'em in a corner and that smile go away. Out here, it's always shove so we know straight up where we stand. No one gon' help you. No one gon' give you what you need. You gotta hustle. You gotta believe in yo self. You learn real quick not to give a fuck what other niggas think. You don't gotta worry about what they thnk cuz they ain't shit. If they yo boys, then yeah, but if they ain't tryna fuck wit'cho when you need them, fuck 'em."
Lisa carefully weighed his words. He was right, she decided, one shouldn't care what someone thinks of them if that person is not willing to first be there for them in their hour of need. "Come back here tomorrow," Dino said. "I'mma hook you up. You gon' be ghetto as fuck when I'm done wth you."
As she walked away, Lisa realized something.
She was looking forward to being "ghetto."
Lynn Loud lived in an apartment building three blocks from the main campus of Michigan State University. When she first moved in last semester, she shared her apartment with two other girls who went to MSU, but they had both moved out, one because she flunked and the other to live with her boyfriend. The rent was steep but Lynn managed on her own. It wasn't very big, one bedroom, and when her roommates were here, she slept on the couch. Now she got to sleep in the bedroom, which more than made up for the high rent.
After leaving Lincoln, she went home and got there just as a fire truck blasted by in the street, the mournful wail of its siren echoing through the neighborhood like the cry of a banshee. In the city, sirens were a natural part of the landscape, like mountains in West Virginia, and she didn't think twice about it. In the lobby, she checked her mail, then climbed the stairs, stepping over a wino passed out on the third floor landing.
Her apartment was on the fifth floor, just off the stairs. She tucked her mail under her arm, fished her keys from her pocket, and unlocked the door. Inside, she kicked out of her shoes and went into the kitchen. She drew a glass of water and took a long drink, then went into the living room. A dirty and battered sofa faced a TV set that was prehistoric twenty years ago and a stack of empty pizza boxes covered the coffee table.
In the bedroom, she peeled her sweatpants off and pulled her shirt over her head in a spill of brown hair. She took her sports bra off and let out a sigh of relief. She changed into a white T-shirt and went into the living room wearing just that and her underwear. She dropped onto the couch and stretched out, the aches and pains in her body slowly melting away. After a long day of running, jumping, balling, jogging, and falling down, the simple pleasure of laying down on the couch was better than sex.
Though not by much.
The last time Lynn did the nasty was, like, two semesters ago when she was dating Dan Parker, the captain of the football team. She liked Dan but there was something missing in him, some indefinable trait the absence of which she just couldn't accept. He was a nice guy, but she couldn't see herself being happy with him, and what was the point of dating someone if you didn't plan to be with them long-term? To her, dating - like anything else - was a game, and when she played a game, she played to win. She didn't expect to find her soulmate the first or second time around, but dating a guy you couldn't envision yourself marrying and having a family with was like playing a game that you couldn't win. Pointless.
They broke up last year, and while Lynn believed even now that it was the right thing to do, she missed sex and intimcy. When Dan put his arms around her and held her close, she felt good. Happy, warm, at peace. Every so often she considered going back to him, but as much as she enjoyed being with him, he just wasn't the "One."
What was he missing?
She had thought long and hard about that, but she was no closer to knowing than she was the first time she realized he wasn't what she wanted in a man. No matter how much they snuggled or had sex, she just didn't feel close to him. It was as though there were some invisible wall around him, a wall that she could not break down or penetrate.
Was the problem really with him...or was it her?
Lynn was known to be full of herself, but she wasn't so arrogant that she wasn't open to the idea of her being at fault in this matter. Maybe the problem was her. Maybe she was too picky and wanted something that didn't exist. Maybe she was making excuses to herself, cooking up reasons why she couldn't settle down with someone. Like any woman, she wanted marriage and kids, but that was, like, a biological thing, you know? Everyone feels that because it's in their DNA. She wanted it but she had high hopes of going pro one day and a husband and kids would only get in the way.
Who knows? Humans are complicated. Sh usd to think that what you saw is what you got but it's not. She wasn't sweating it or anything and she didn't beat herself up over it, she just missed getting laid.
She also missed having someone around in general. She wasn't the kind of person who delighted in being by herself. Some people can be alone and make their own entertainment, but not her, she needed people, activity, external stimulus of some kind. It was fine when her roommates were still around but now that they were gone, she was lonely. She did her best to stay out as late as she could, be it at work or on campus, because being alone chafed her like a pair of shoes two sizes too small. She grew up in a zoo with nine sisters and a brother, so chaos and mayhem were as natural to her as water was to a fish. She had never thought about it until she no longer had it. Even with the TV on and the noise of the neighbors drifting through the paper thin walls, she felt totally alone in the apartment.
All those thoughts swirled through her head and weighed heavy on her brain. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and before she knew it, she had sunken into a light and fitful sleep. She came sharply awake sometime after sundown to a loud knock on the door. Her heart rocketed into her throat and she sat up with a gasp. She ran her fingers through her hair and blinked the sleep from her eyes; her neck was stiff and her lower back ached from laying wrong. She waited for the knock to come again, half convinced that it was just the product of her mind, then started when it came.
Getting to her feet, she picked her way across the darkened living room. She kicked the edge of the metal floor vent and hot agony streaked up her leg. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes closed against a rush of tears. Owww, damn it!
Knock knock knock.
"Wait!" she hissed.
Sucking air through her teeth, she limped into the kitchen and snapped the light on, flooding the apartment with muted glow. She dragged herself to the door and pushed up onto her tippy toes to look through the peephole.
Lincoln.
She relaxed, undid the security chain, and opened the door. Lincoln stood in the hall with his shoulders slumped. The front of his pants and shirt were both soaked with water and he looked like he was over and done with life and everything in it.
His somber expression made her laugh. "What are you doing?"
"My dorm burned down," he said, "I need a place to stay."
She started to say sure, Stinkcoln, whatever you say, but the look in his eyes stopped her, and the smile slowly drained from her face. He was being serious. "What happened?" she asked soberly and stepped aside to let him in.
"I got back to my dorm...and it was on fire."
"Are you okay?" she asked, a hint of worry creeping into her voice.
Lincoln dropped onto the couch and heaved a deep sigh. Lynn sat next to her, drawing her legs under herself and pressing her hand to his forehead like a concerned mother checking her baby for signs of harm. "I'm fine," he said. "I don't know about my stuff though. I tried to go inside after work but they have cops guarding the front door."
She listened to him speak, relief washing through her. Thank God he was okay. For a second there, she was crazily convinced that he was hurt somehow. She let out a deep breath and brushed her hair back from her forehead. "That really sucks," she said.
"Tell me about it," he said. "All my shit's in there. And even if I get it back, there's no way in hell they're going to let people move back in."
Lynn winced. "Well, you can stay here as long as you need to," she said. Even as she spoke, excitement blossomed in the middle of her chest at the realization that she wouldn't have to be alone anymore. If she had her way, the apartment would be filled with people, all of them with different likes, dislikes, and personalities, just like the house she grew up in, but Lincoln would have to do. If she had to have just one person around, it would be Lincoln anyway. Of all her siblings, he had always been her favorite. "It'll be like that time I bunked with you when we were kids."
"Only I'm the one pestering you now."
She waved her hand. "Eh, it's no….wait a minute, I didn't pester you."
"Yes you did," Lincoln said. "You drove me crazy."
Pursing her hips, she punched him in the arm and he laughed. "If I'm so miserable to be around, you can go sleep in the park."
Lincoln laughed. "Okay, okay, you weren't miserable. You were a joy and I was devastated when you moved back in with Lucy."
"I wasn't," Lynn said, "I was thrilled to get out of your smelly little closet."
In actuality, she liked staying with Lincoln. He was an awesome roommate. All Lucy did was sit there and read, but Lincoln wrestled with her and did other cool stuff. But even so, she had been in with Lucy for as long as she could remember and for better or worse, that was home. Lincoln's room was just a vacation.
She realized something. "Why are you wet? You happy to see me?"
Lincoln favored her with a humorless scowl. "Because I'm a dish washer. Remember?"
"Oh, right. I forgot you were a total loser. You're getting my couch wet."
"I don't have anything to change into."
Lynn got up. "I think I have something."
Leaving him alone, she went into the bedroom and turned the light on. She dug through the dresser drawers until she found a pair of men's basketball shorts that looked like they would fit him. She returned to the living room and tossed them at him. "Here."
"Where did you get these?" he asked and turned them over in his hands.
"They're mine," she said. "I sleep in them when I run out of underwear."
Lincoln's face crinkled and she shoved him. "Go get changed."
While he went into the bathroom, Lynn made a pot of coffee, her bare feet crunching and popping the tacky linoleum. She stood on the tips of her toes to reach into the cabinet, and it was only when the hem of her shirt pulled up over her butt and she felt a breeze did she realize she was still in just her underwear.
A strange and inexplicable flush of embarrassment colored the back of her neck. She'd been in her underwear in front of Lincoln a million times in her life and it never bothered her before, but now she felt naked and ashamed.
Must be that meatball sub she had for lunch.
She got two mugs down and filled them with coffee. Lincoln came out of the bathroom and she glanced over her shoulder. "How do they fit?"
"Barely," he said.
Lynn was powerless to keep her eyes from going to his crotch. The silky fabric pulled tight across the thick bulge of his masculinity, outlining his dick and nuts so clearly that he might as well have been naked. His gaze went next to his bare chest. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him without his shirt; was he always this toned? He wasn't a Musclebob Buffpants, but he also wasn't a scrawny little boy anymore.
Tingling warmth spread through Lynn and she realized with a jolt that she was checking out her brother.
Ugh.
Jesus, Lynn, really?
But she made no move to look away. Brother or not, he had a really nice body. His stomach was flat and taut and his chest rippled with surprising strength. The shorts clung to his package like a second skin and rustled against his warm skin with every movement. Lynn's core pinched and that prod of sinful need snapped her out of it. She turned quickly away and almost knocked over one of the coffee cups. "They're kind of tight," he said.
"A little bit," she said. "It's either that or a pair of my drawers."
"These will do." He sat on the couch and laced his hands behind his head. The muscles in his arms flexed and strained, and Lynn couldn't help caressing them with her eyes.
Gross, what's wrong with you?
Keeping her head down, she brought the coffee into the living room and sat on the couch, her knee coming so close to brushing against the side of Lincoln's leg that her flesh prickled. Lincoln took one of the mugs and lifted it to his lips. Lynn's head twitched but she wouldn't let it turn in her brother's direction. "You've been working out," she said. She didn't know she was going to say and as soon as the words were out, she blushed deeply.
"No I haven't," he said.
"You're not, you know, as skinny as you used to be."
Lincoln looked down at his chest as though he had no clue his body was hot. "I guess," he said, "I don't do anything."
"Right?" Lynn asked. Did he notice the tremble in her voice? If he did, he didn't show it. She broke down and turned to face him, her eyes doing a quick sweep of his body before she could command them not to. "You sit on your ass all day like a dork. What's your secret?"
"Sitting on my ass all day like a dork, apparently."
"It works," she said.
And it did. God, it's wrong to look at your brother but holy fuck, he was hot, and the more she let her eyes linger on him, the warmer she felt. Looking really wasn't so bad, was it? It's not like she was touching him or anything. Oh, she wanted to, so bad that tremors raced through her hands, but she wasn't going to. And she wasn't really getting hot and bothered over him, just his body. She could appreciate his bod without taking him being her brother into account, right? A tight stomach and a chiseled chest are a tight stomach and a chiseled chest no matter who they're on.
It's, like, human nature to get a little hot under the collar (she couldn't bring herself to say 'turned on' even though she kind of was) by an attractive physique. You see something sexy and your body responds. Like that old song says, we ain't nothin but mammals. You can't control raw feelings, can you?
Even though she told herself this, it still felt wrong.
Just had it had the many times she'd done this in the past.
She deflated a little remembering all the times she had tried to get a peek of Lincoln's junk when they were kids. And there were a lot of times she tried to get a peek at Lincoln's junk. She would barge into his room unannounced hoping to catch him naked, or even playing with himself, and every time he took a bath, she invented a reason to go into the bathroom. She would crane her neck to see around the curtain, but never saw anything and never gathered the courage to just walk over and rip it open. Sometimes when they played football, she'd goad him into taking his shirt off - what, are you afraid of everyone seeing how puny you are? - just so she could look at his chest. She was steeped in hormones and playing ball was really hard when there was a sweaty, shirtless boy running around.
Back then, she didn't have the same...shame?...that she did now, and she made sure to tackle him every chance she got so that she could feel him underneath her and touch his naked flesh with her thirsty hands.
God, she had totally forgotten about that. She must have blocked it out or something, because even now, recalling it filled her with self-loathing. She was a real pervert, wasn't she?
In her defense, that was all just girlish curiosity. Thirteen and fourteen year old girls are like that. All kids that age are that way. They're hormonal and curious and horny. It's perfectly normal, and it made sense that if you're constantly around a boy while in that state, you're going to end up looking at him, because that's all you had. She didn't look at just Lincoln. She looked at all boys, even Clyde. It was really nothing to be ashamed of.
She could accept that then,.but not now. She was a kid back then and kids do and think dumb things. Right now, she was a grown woman...a grown woman who was totally getting girlhard for her own brother. She tried to wrench her eyes away from Lincoln, but they stuck to him like glue. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, making her breast quiver, and her palms tingled with the compulsion to run themselves slowly over the ridges and plains of Lincoln's muscles. Dank heat wafted from between her legs and she pressed her thighs together to relieve a little bit of the pressure building in her center. She clamped her lower lip between her teeth and exerted every ounce of self-control she had to keep from mauling him.
Lincoln shifted, and the spell broke. Their gazes met and they both blushed. "You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," Lynn croaked and looked coyly away. She awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck and damned herself as an idiot. Did Lincoln see the unbridled hunger in her eyes? Did he sense her arousal? Did he smell her? She imagined she could, a wild, sickly musk that got stronger the closer you got to her middle. If she spread her legs and Lincoln leaned in, he couldn't miss it. Then, while he was down there, he could trace her lips with his tongue and kiss her aching clit…
That thought propelled Lynn to her feet, passion and mortification coursing through her in equal measure. "I'll, uh, I'll get you s-some blankets."
Not giving him a chance to stop her, she hurried off to her room with her tail between her legs. Alone, she slumped against the wall, threw her head back, and took a series of deep breaths. When she trusted herself to not come apart at the seams, she fetched an extra blanket and pillow from the closet and took them into the living room. Looking pointedly away from Lincoln, she dropped the bundle on the coffee table. "I'm gonna go to bed," she said quickly.
"Really? It's early."
Lynn's heart leapt. Did he want her to hang out with him? Because -
No, that was a bad idea. She was being weird right now and being around Lincoln could lead to her doing something she would really regret. "Yeah, I'm really tired, I-I better go."
"Alright," Lincoln said. "You mind if I watch your TV?"
"No, go ahead."
"Thanks. Goodnight."
"Night."
Lynn slunk off to her room once more. Inside, she closed the door and leaning heavily against it, her chest rising and falling with the tide of her breathing. What was all that about? It just came out of nowhere, totally unexpected; one minute she was normal and the next she was practically drooling over her own brother.
Tired. That's it. She was tired. He woke her up and she wasn't fully with it. Maybe "tired" wasn't the best word but she definitely wasn't herself. You can wake up with your spine out of whack, so why not your mind too? She needed a full night's sleep, that was all. In the morning, her mind would be right and she would look back on this the way a woman would look back at something she did while pissing and falling down.
Turning the light off, Lynn climbed into bed and pulled the blankets up to her neck.
Then she laid there.
By bed time on normal days, Lynn was exhausted when she dropped into bed, and her mind shut off the moment her head hit the pillow, but this was no normal day. Her brain crackled with activity and energy thrummed through her like power through a transformer box. She stared up at the ceiling and tried to clear her mind, but a thousand and one dirty thoughts attacked her from every side. She didn't know whether to be ashamed or aroused, so she became both, and as she struggled against those emotions, she discovered something about herself.
She liked being ashamed.
Like...really liked it.
Rolling onto her side, she pulled the blankets to her chest and held them tight. It bunched at her crotch and when she adjusted her position, it prodded her center and knocked her heart into a tizzy. She rubbed herself lightly against it, and the friction felt so good that a tiny moan escaped her lips. She imagined it was Lincoln and did it again, slowly, firmly, relishing the wicked touch of his body to hers.
Disgusted with herself, she pushed the blanket away and flopped onto her back with a frustrated sigh. She raked her fingers through her hair and darted her eyes to a door. A sliver of soft blue light shone in the crack and when she strained to listen, she could just hear the muffled sounds of the TV.
Lincoln was still awake.
She knew right then and there what she was going to do.
No, don't.
There was no conviction in her inner voice, only tacit resignation.
And more than a little excitement.
Heart pounding in fear and anticipation, Lynn threw the covers off, swung her bare legs over the side of the bed, and stood on bare feet. She slunk to the door, closed her hand around the knob, and paused.
What was she doing? Was she really going to her brother? What the fuck was wrong with her?
Her resolve wavered, and she looked over her shoulder at the safety...and sanity...of her bed. She should get back in and forget about this.
Instead, she eased the door open.
For a long time, she stood indecisively in the doorway and chewed her bottom lip, her being in turmoil and her heart locked in fierce battle with her brain. She could turn back now, should turn back now, but, God, she didn't want to. The human heart is the most ignorant and impulsive thing on the face of the earth, second only to the human body. She knew in her head that what she was doing was wrong and a huge mistake, but h brain whispers while the heart and body scream.
Taking a deep breath, she went into the living room.
Lincoln was slouched on the sofa with his hands behind his head and his feet propped up on the coffee table. The flickering TV glow cast him in a roiling blue tint and Lynn's heart skipped a staggering beat. He glanced over as she sat next to him. "Hey," he said.
"Hey," she replied. "I, uh, I couldn't sleep."
"Am I being too loud?"
She shook her head. "No, you're fine."
Very fine, she added to herself.
"What are you watching?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Some movie," Lincoln said, "it kind of sucks."
Onscreen, an army of tomatoes rolled across the ground while people ran in terror for their lives. Someone fell and tomatoes smashed themselves against him, covering his prone and trembling body in snot-like goo. Lynn chuckled. "Wow, this is dumb." She stole a sidelong glance at Lincoln and scooted carefully closer, hoping with bated breath that he didn't notice and say anything.
He didn't.
"I know," he said. "It'd be a lot scarier if it was broccoli."
That made Lynn laugh. Or maybe she laughed because he was cute and being next to him, both of them barely dressed, made her giddy. She didn't know and she didn't care. Her leg pressed lightly against his and the warmth of his skin made her heart pitter-patter. Lincoln glanced nonchalantly at her leg and then turned back to the TV.
What should she do now? She wasn't very good at seducing anyone, much less her brother. Consciously getting a guy interested in her wasn't easy to begin with, but this was a whole other game entirely. With other guys, there wasn't the whole "we're brother-sister" barrier to break down.
She was too afraid to do anything more, but she was also afraid of doing nothing more. She swallowed thickly and carefully considered her next move. How could she slide up into his personal space without it being obvious that her intent was less than sisterly? She didn't want him to suspect anything until the last second, and even then, she wanted to leave herself out so that she could play innocent if he reacted poorly. Dude, I was just hugging you, sheesh, stop being weird. That meant she couldn't just grab his crotch. If he was any other dude, that's probably exactly what she would do too. It was blunt and clumsy, but it got the job done. Lincoln wasn't just any dude, though, that was the problem. If he was, this would be so much easier and she wouldn't have to overthink it so much.
Lincoln scooted away and Lynn followed, keeping her leg flush to his. He spared her another glance, then went back to watching TV. He didn't try to move again; he seemed resigned to Lynn's leg touching his. He didn't seem too bothered by it in the first place, and she got the feeling that him moving was a courtesy to her rather than him being uncomfortable. She waited for a minute or two to pass, then leaned into him until her arm pressed into his side. She stole a look at him from the corner of her eye. His expression was neutral and stoic like that of a statue in a placid park. The only hint that he was a living person was his Adam's apple; it bobbed nervously up and down. Was she freaking him out?
Or was he into it?
When they were kids, it wasn't rare for him to look at her butt or tits. She caught him doing it more than once. She convinced herself that his looking at her was more innocent than her looking at him. He didn't even look overly enthusiastic when he did it. He didn't stare openly at her butt the way she did his, or at least he didn't the few times she caught him in the act, and she didn't see fire in his eyes. Curiosity, yes, but not primal need. Did he like what he saw? Did he want to run his hands over her naked body? Was he willing to fuck her even though she was his sister? Blood relation is a huge stumbling block that most people couldn't surmount. If they could, incest wouldn't be quite the taboo that it is. On the other hand, from what she had heard, it was generally acknowledged among the top science geeks that it happens a lot more than people let on, and why wouldn't it? If you have enough horny kids in close proximity to each other, at least a couple of them will break down and rut their sister, and that sister will let them.
What did he feel when he used to look at her? Anything? He did have a poker face; if he was angry, sad, or upset, you'd never know unless he wanted you to.
She would never know he wanted her unless he allowed her to.
And she hoped he did.
Lynn inhaled deeply through her nose and inadvertently caught a whiff of his strong, masculine scent. She rolled it over her tongue like fine wine and let out a shivery breath. Her lower lips were swollen and sticky and lust crept into her head like fog, obscuring her brain and all but blotting out her inhibitions.
Finally making her move, she curled up next to Lincoln, laid her head on his chest, and rested her hand on his stomach. Lincoln tensed in surprise and looked confusedly down at her. She couldn't see his bafflement but she could feel it.
Please don't ask me to move, she thought.
Instead, he relaxed and slipped his arm around her shoulders as casually as though she were his girlfriend. A shiver of delight went through her and she risked rubbing a light circle over his stomach. Lincoln drew a quick breath like a man wading into cold water, and when he recovered, he stroked his fingers gently through Lynn's hair. Crackling tendrils of sensation shot down Lynn's spine and now it was her turn to gasp. Lincoln ran her hair between his fingers and Lynn caressed his stomach in long, slow strokes. She turned her head until her nose touched his skin and she drew a breath, his smell making her head swim. Lincoln grazed his nails over her scalp and she responded by touching lower; her pinkie brushed the waistband of his shorts and he shifted his hips as if to reposition himself. Was it her imagination or were his shorts tighter...his crotch fuller?
Lincoln skimmed his thumb along her earlobe and Lynn shivered. Throwing caution to the wind, she moved her hand over his middle, the fabric of his shorts rustling against her palm. She found his dick and gave it a light squeeze, her heart launching into her throat when she realized he was already semi-erect. Both of them froze as though it had just dawned on them that they had somehow gone too far. Lynn looked up at him, expecting to see alarm in his eyes.
It wasn't there.
A deep blush colored his face and his nostrils flared with every ragged breath. Something Lynn could not fathom hazed his eyes and it took her a moment to place it.
Lust.
He did want her.
Lynn was the first one to move. She squeezed his bulge again and Lincoln licked his lips. She ran her hand up his chest and got to her knees. Now she was slightly taller than him and he stared up into her eyes. She touched his forehead and after what seemed like an eternity, he circled his arm around her hips and pulled her close. Their faces hovered and their gazes held, the world fading until they were the only thing that remained. In his eyes, Lynn saw what she had secretly always wanted to.
Feelings.
For her.
Their noses brushed and Lynn realized they were kissing only when his tongue swirled around hers. She took his face in her hands and kissed him back. Lincoln's hands roamed up and down her back and his tongue urgently lashed hers. Lynn crawled into his lap and planted her knees on either side of his side. The pulsing fullness of his bulge against her center knocked a moan from her lips, and she kissed him harder, her body beginning to smolder and her mind scrambling with desire. Lincoln pulled her body tight to his, her breasts smooshing against his chest, and she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, the taste of his kiss intoxicating her senses. Lincoln ran his hands up her back, his skin scraping hers, and then ran his nails down to the waistband of her panties. A jolt plunged into Lynn's pussy and her nipples throbbed hotly.
She lost herself in her brother's ardor, barely aware of him laying her back on the couch, dimly registering the feeling of her panties sliding down her thighs and dangling from her ankle. Lincoln trailed wet kisses up and down the side of her neck and Lynn threw her head back to give him better access, sighs and pants bursting from her throat. She dug her nails into Lincoln's back and hissed through her teeth when he sank himself into her.
Pressure swelled in Lynn's stomach and her eyes strained from their sockets. God, he was big, and when he began to thrust back and forth, she felt like she was going to split in two. She tore at his naked back and wrapped her legs around him in an attempt to control his speed.
Lincoln's hips slid smoothly back and forth, his crowned head rubbing a special bundle of nerves and prodding the back of her limit. Lynn held on for dear life and dug her heels into his butt.
Gradually, her body adjusted to his size, and her discomfort melted away. She arched her back off the couch, meeting him half way, and she grabbed handfuls of the cushion as if to keep herself from tumbling off. Each of Lincoln's thrusts knocked a high pitched grunt from her throat and every time his dick hooked her G-Spot, colors exploded across the backs of her eyelids. She could feel her orgasm gaining power in the pit of her stomach like a snowball rolling downhill, getting bigger with every passing moment, and she clung tighter to her brother, wanting to be as close to him at the second he made her cum as she could. Lincoln went faster, his forehead resting on Lynn's. His exhalations broke across her lips, then he was kissing her with renewed passion. She knew in an instant that he was getting close and stopped fighting against her own climax.
He grew bigger, hotter, thicker, then yanked out just as Lynn's orgasm consumed her. Wet warmth splattered her thighs and stomach, and Lynn's entire body jerked and clenched. Her soul gushed out of her and her mind went completely blank with nirvana.
Lincoln laid his head on her chest, and she stroked his cheek, a tired and satisfied smile spreading across her lips. Neither one moved, both to preserve the warm happiness they had made together and because once they parted, cold reality might begin to creep in. Would they still feel the same in the morning, or would shame and regret take the place of love and happiness?
Lynn didn't know and didn't want to find out, but pleasant weariness stole over her, and cuddling naked with her brother, she gave into sleep.
Tomorrow, they would find out where their hearts and heads were, but for right now, for one perfect night, they already knew.
Their hearts, their minds, their bodies were in the only place they wanted to be.
Together.