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The therapist instructed me to sit with my emotions, name them, feel them in my body, and acknowledge imagery I associate with them.
Right now, walking through the doors of the event center, paying to cheer my stepsister on, I’m dying to tell her that she’s changed my life. I’m struggling to name my feeling anything other than love, but my skills are limited. And her orgasm face is the predominant image.
Is it possible to fail at therapy?
My brothers and I blend into the mix as other members of our motorcycle club arrive. With a few of them hooking up with Cheri’s teammates, we’ve all grown interested in the sport.
We’re in a muti-use facility and the track is marked on the floor with tape. A cord is under one of the pieces of tape, making it easier for the skaters to feel if they’ve gone out of bounds.
Climbing the pull-out bleachers, we settle at the top, thinking it will give us the best view. Our sister, AKA Cherry Bomb, skatesaround the track in tiny little spandex shorts that cover the beautiful pussy I’ve watched come so many times.
If I’m not willing to commit to her, I don’t have any right to feel jealous over the guys I see watching her.
What good did it do to resist her? I roll my shoulders.Nothingstayed on the island. My brothers and I are a wreck. And Cheri refusing to talk to us strikes me as nothing more than a façade, indicating that she’s in the same boat. I should know. Resistance is my go-to move.
The bout started without me even realizing. All I’m doing is staring at her.
Do we all think we can lie to ourselves? If I’m to trust the exercise my therapist gave me, I’m head over heels for the ray of sunshine now known as my little sister. Her happiness shines through the cracks in my heartwall, lighting up my entire chest cavity that had gone dark so long ago.
There is good in the world. She’s living proof. Although she’s fierce on the track, bumping other players, and putting on a mean face.
Just knowing her has given me hope that I can be a better man, if I learn to enjoy life. I don’t have to suffer just because other people do. How can I be the best protector and savior on missions if I haven’t taken care of myself? How can I be the best possible man for my loved ones if I’m withdrawn?
Feelings are swallowing me up like quicksand. I stand, prepared to head outside, but as the bleachers creak under me on my way down, I’m reminded of safety and breaking points. Derby girls get hurt. I sit on the front row. My elbows rest on my thighs. My fists ball in front of my mouth. I’m closer to her.
I’m surprised that I can breathe again. Is that all I needed? Closeness?
Should I have gotten it out of my system on the island? Would it have helped? Now that we’re home, my brothers don’t seem tobe faring any better. Commando and Taz squeeze onto the front row with me.
“This is better than up top,” Taz says. “How are you guys dealing with this?”
I swear her cheeks are rosier and her tits fuller every time I see her.
While we all stare straight ahead, Commando says, “We promised not to talk about it.”
We fall silent, sitting side by side, worlds apart, yet bound by experiences that have changed my life forever. It reminds me of my first rescue mission, storming a secret prison, taking down the enemy, and freeing the prisoners of war. It changed me. Freeing women and children laid the foundation for the wall I’ve kept my heart behind.
But Cheri… Her happiness shines right over my wall and through the cracks.
When she catches me staring at her, I cast my eyes down quickly and flip through the program. There she is on the page… complete with elbow and knee pads… Cherry Bomb. I can’t escape the way I feel when I look at her.
My therapist would point out this is the perfect time to do the exercise. “I’m in love with her.”
“What?” Commando says, angling his face toward me.
Fuck! I said it out loud.
Based on his and Taz’s expressions, they both heard exactly what I said. Time to do more than sit and label feelings. I nod slowly and exaggeratedly. “I’m going to tell her.”
“You didn’t even—”
“Shhh.” I hold up a finger and cut Taz off. “Not here.”
Telling my brothers, even accidentally, a weight has been lifted. The problem is that I’m not sure if it’s being held over my head. For now, I appreciate the lightness in my chest.
I smile. It feels weird. I close the program and watch the skaters. Damn, they get rough. I think of how sweet and innocent Cheri is off the track. The lightness of her laughter. Her sassiness when she crawled over the dune looking for her panties and let me keep them in my pocket.
She’s the exact opposite of me, even with the help of therapy. I curse myself for wanting something with her. She deserves a man who can cater to her lightness.
