“Nice place,” said the driver.
“Mm, I guess it is.”
“Do you live here?”
“I used too, a long time ago.”
“Must be nice to be rich,” I heard the sarcasm in his voice but ignored it.
There it was, my parents gleaming white house. Three stories with a tiled roof. Balconies on every floor, and a garden that took two days to water. Behind it was a large swimming pool, with a pool house and guest rooms.
“You can stop here,” I said.
“$50, please.”
I paid him and got out. I guess he was too lazy to get my bag out of the trunk since he only popped it and I took it out. He drove off and I stood alone on the sidewalk. The street was quiet, it was early in the morning, just after six and the sun was coming up over the neighbors palm trees. I lit a cigarette and drank from the water bottle I had bought at the arrival hall.
A woman came jogging towards me and smiled as she ran by. I looked at her ass and thought that she needed to run a lot more to make it firm.
It was time to meet my parents. I hadn’t seen them in close to fifteen years. After I graduated high school, I had decided not to go to college, but to travel. My father had hit the roof and my mother had cried. I told them I wanted to see it all, experience new cultures, not to be bogged down in a classroom. I had told them it was only for half a year or so, but it turned out a lot longer. My dad had given me a credit card and hugged me goodbye at the airport, thinking I would show up soon enough.
When six months had past, I sent them a postcard from Hong Kong telling them I wasn’t coming home. I bought a camera and made enough money being a freelance photographer. I basically lived out of my backpack. I left Hong Kong and traveled to South East Asia, then on to Africa and across to South America. I had done Europe during the first six months of my adventure.
Now I was back, my mother was ill and the doctors had told her she had no more than three to six months to live. I hated death, and I hated sickness, it made me feel uncomfortable, and in my line of work I had seen enough of it. Covering wars and outbreaks.
I picked up my bag and slung it over my shoulder and walked up the tiled path with flower beds on either side. Then I knocked on the door.
When it opened my father was standing there, he looked at me, curiosity in his eyes.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“Hi dad, it’s me.”
“Chris? Oh, my god, I didn’t recognize you at first. Come in.”
I walked past him into the large foyer. Across it were the French doors out onto the back terrace, pool and garden.
When he had closed the door behind me he hugged me and said, “we have missed you so much.”
I let go of him. “Where is Mom?”
He sighed. “Upstairs, sleeping.”
“How is she?”
“Some days are better than others, I guess, but she is very sick.”
He walked away and I left my bag by the door and followed him into the kitchen.
“Coffee?” he said.
“Please.”
“Where did you fly in from?”
“La Paz, Bolivia.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Covering the elections.”
He was quiet while he poured two mugs and handed one to me. Then he said, “how long are you staying?”
“A couple of days only.”
“C’mon, stay longer. Your mother would love to have you around.”
“Maybe, let’s see how things go.”
We sat in silence and then I said, “When do I get to meet her?”
He looked up from his mug. “Liza?”
“Yeah, who else? Have you adopted more kids while I was gone?”
He smiled, “no, just her. I guess she is still sleeping.”
“Tell me about her. All I know is that you adopted her ten years ago, and she is from Colombia.”
“Well, your mother and I got in touch with a company that works with poor people in Latin America. We went down to Colombia to see the work they did, and that’s when we first met Liza. She was eight at the time.”
“What made you decide to adopt her?”
“She was an orphan. Her parents had been killed by the FARC guerillas, and she had no other family. We thought we could give her a better future here in the States.”
“How did she adapt to her new country?”
Dad shrugged his shoulders, “Fine, I suppose. She learned English quickly and have decent grades in school. She will go to university this fall.”
“Sound’s good.”
“Mm, I guess so.”
He looked worried, and I said, “C’mon Dad, what is it?”
“Well, she is a special girl.”
“Okay, and what does that mean?”
“You will see when you meet her, and please, I beg you, do not judge her.”
This made me wonder what was going on. Did she have a disability or something? I had met kids with severe illness and victims of war atrocities, so I wasn’t easily shocked.
My Dad offered me more coffee, which I accepted and then he left to go upstairs. I took the mug with me and walked out onto the terrace where I lit a cigarette and sat down under one of the palm trees. I sat on the grass and the smell of the flowers around me was strong. I was about to light another cigarette when the French doors opened and a person walked out.
At first, I couldn’t see who it was because the sun was in my eyes, but apparently the person noticed me and walked towards where I was sitting. Suddenly I realized it was a young woman, it must be Liza, I thought. I got up, ready to say hello. As she came closer I saw that she was only wearing a pair of white cotton panties, nothing else. Her boobs were quite large and set high on her chest. She had that special Latin swing in her hips, and her hair was long, raven black and slightly curly.
When she reached me, said, “hi, you must be my step-brother, Chris?”
I was speechless. She was a half a head shorter than me, which made her around five foot seven. She looked up at me with large brown eyes and her full mouth had a big smile, showing perfect white teeth. This close I could see that her nipples were dark brown and hard. I looked away and said, “yeah, I am. It’s nice to meet you, finally.”
“Come here, and give me a hug,” she said.
Before I could stop her, she wrapped her arms around me and pressed herself against my body. I could feel her firm boobs against my chest and it made me squirm inside. This was not the time or the place to get a hard on. I gave her a quick hug and then stepped away.
“How was your trip?” she asked.
“Fine, long, but good.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
“No, just coffee.”
She took my hand.”C’mon, I’ll make you some scrambled eggs and bacon, and we can get to know each other better. We have so much to catch up on.”
While I sat at the kitchen table Liza busied herself at the stove. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her round ass moving in front of me. When she bent down to get something out of the fridge, I could see the outline of her pussy between her legs. It was one of those that look like if someone had placed a little bun between her thighs.
I swallowed hard and looked away. My cock was by now hard in my pants and I adjusted it a little so it wouldn’t be so obvious under the thin fabric. While she made breakfast she told me about her life in the States since she had arrived. The new language, making friends at school and the soccer team she had joined. At one point she turned around and said, “You know, I don’t get you guys.”
“What do you mean?”
“All you can think about is sex. I get guys at school coming up to me saying how they love my body, and what big tits I have. It’s like if the only thing that is working in their bodies are their hormones and the only thing they do is to send messages to their brains about fucking.”
I was shocked at the word she had used and stammered, “I, I guess, young guys are like that.”
Waving a fork in the air, she continued, “C’mon, Chris. Don’t tell me you think less about sex when you get older?”
“I guess you are right.”
She turned around and moved the eggs. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No, I don’t.”
She turned back around, eyes wide open.”How come?”
“Well, I travel a lot and it’s hard to keep a long distance relationship.”
She gave me a slight smile.”What about sex?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t lack of it.”
“Of course not, you are very handsome. I’m lucky to have such a good looking step-brother. My friends are dying to meet you.”
“Meet me?”
“Yeah, I invited Brooke and Josie over this afternoon.”
“Is that such a good idea? I mean, Mom is very sick.”
Liza put the food on two plates and placed one of them in front of me. When she had sat down, she said, “Not at all, Mom likes having us around. She says she loves the sound of us laughing.”
When I was half way through my plate my father came in.
“Dad, there is breakfast for you too, on the stove.”
“Thanks, Liza. Are you off soon?”
She looked up at the clock hanging on the wall above me. “Shit! I got to run.” She got up and put her plate in the sink and then disappeared up the stairs.
“So, what do you think?” said my dad, when he had sat down.
“What’s up with her walking around half naked?”
“Well, that’s what I meant when I said she was special. I think it has to do with how she was brought up. Out there in the jungle, where she lived, most people were so poor that they couldn’t afford clothing. She only uses clothes when she goes out and she is extremely careful with the things she buys. Always hangs them up or puts them in drawers.”
“Still, it’s a bit uncomfortable, don’t you think?”
“I guess. Your mother and I have spoken to her about it, but she refuses. Only when we have visitors does she put something on to cover herself up. I had to forbid her opening the entrance door after some of the neighbors complained that she was topless when they would knock.”
I finished my breakfast. “Is Mom awake?”
“No, she is still sleeping.”
“Okay, I’m going to rest a little. It was a long flight. I’ll see you later.”
As I walked up the stairs, I met Liza halfway up. She was wearing tight shorts and a blouse that was knotted above her belly button. Her boobs pressed against the fabric and when she saw me she smiled. “I’m off, and I’ll see you later.”
“Bye Liza,” I said and watched her firm ass while she walked down the last steps.
As I lay on my bed in my old room looking up at the ceiling, memories flowed back. My parents had left my room exactly as had been when I had left. The posters on the walls showing different bands and sports stars still hung there. On the desk stood my computer, very outdated, and pens and pencils in their holder.
I tried to sleep, but one thought came back to me as soon as I began drifting away, mother. Even though I knew she was dying, it felt distant, like if it wasn’t happening. I put it down to me being away for so long and losing contact with my parents. We only kept in touch over birthdays and a Christmas cards.
My father felt more like just another man than my dad. He had been in the middle of his career as a lawyer when he had left and I remember going to bed and waking up in the morning not seeing him around. It could take days and even weeks before we had breakfast together. He often traveled and even though he always brought me a gift when he came back it was never enough.
Maybe I had left as a way to get revenge on him, for letting me be alone for all those years, just with my mother in the house. She was overprotective and seldom let me go out with my friends after six in the evening. I once took a girl home and my mother told me she was a slut after she had seen her kiss me goodbye on the porch. I never brought one back after that. I was still a virgin when I boarded my flight to Paris at the age of eighteen.
I eventually paid a hooker in a seedy bar somewhere in the red light district of Paris to get laid. It wasn’t very good, or at least not what I had expected. She lay there with her legs spread wide and looked at her fingernails while I tried to fuck her. I say tried because I was so nervous my cock wasn’t hard enough at first. When I finally slid in, I managed three or four thrusts before I came in the condom she had provided. When I slumped down on top of her, she pushed me off and in heavily accented English told me to get my shit and get the fuck out. The next customer was waiting.
When I woke up after my nap, I got dressed and walked down the corridor to my parent’s bedroom. I knocked on the door and then walked in. My mother was lying propped up in her bed with several pillows. Her cheeks were sunken and she had dark rings under her eyes. She looked up from a book she was reading and when she saw me she smiled and put it down.
“Chris, you came.”
I walked over to the bed and sat down, taking her hand in mine. It was cold and dry, not warm and soft as I had remembered it.
“Yeah, Mom. I came. How are you feeling?”
“I have good days and bad. Today I am OK. I have pain, but the drugs take care of that. Did you meet Liza?”
“I did; she is, how do I say this, interesting.”
My mother scoffed. “She is a little whore, but I love her”
“Mom! Why do you say that?”
“What? Was she dressed when you met her?”
“No.”
“Then you know I am right. A girl walking around half naked most of the time is nothing but a little slut, and you know it.”
“But Dad told me about how she grew up.”
My mother patted my hand with her free one. “Sure, sure, and Santa is real. I thought she would grow out of it by the time she entered puberty, you know, becoming aware of her body, but no, she kept on going around in only panties. It drove me and your father crazy. We even took her to see a shrink.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing interesting, he took our money and said that Liza just wasn’t like other girls. Something about being over comfortable with her body and not being able to feel shame.”
At that point, my mother began to cough, and I helped her sit up straighter. She kept on coughing and by the time she stopped, she passed out. I pulled the sheets up and left her to rest.
When I came down the stairs my father came in from the terrace. “Did you talk to her?”
“I did, but she began to cough and I left so she could sleep a bit.”
“Okay. I have to go out….
