Siblings with benefits

As I sat in the lobby of TF Green airport, sipping coffee I tried to keep myself from sinking into the depression that I had been mired in for the last couple of weeks. I was back home in Rhode Island where I had spent 33 of my 39 years/ and my younger brother Mark whom I hadn't seen in six months was on his way to pick me up. Problem was it was hard to be upbeat when you were as utterly exhausted as I was. The cause of this wasn't just my two hour nonstop from Chicago turning into an hour delay at O'hare and a three hour layover in Philly but due mostly to the latest bout of insomnia I'd been suffering from for the last two weeks.

Usually these spells which I've suffered from since the tender age of 10 are brought on by stress, in which case I should have seen this one coming. For the past two months I'd been painting 12-15 hours a day to get ready for an exhibition where I was the featured artist and in the interim had suffered the end of yet another failed relationship. This had been a recurring theme for me over the last ten years. After having never gotten into anything serious all the way up through my twenties and early thirties, which of course were also the years that I had spent battling drug and alcohol addiction, I had since attempted to find that elusive special someone with disastrous results.

The most recent of which was Laura, a thirty year old photographer whom I had met at one of my exhibits almost a year ago. Don't get me wrong I am not a lesbian in the true sense of the word or even bi on a regular basis, but over the years there has been the occasional woman who just seems to catch my interest. We had been living together for the last six months but eventually Laura, like the others before her had complained I was cold and distant, having heard that same line so many times before I guess I can't deny it, but considering some of the things I've been through I do the best I can.

Trying to get my mind off of those things I got up and tossing out my coffee cup walked around a bit. I hadn't texted Mark to come get me until I landed so I had a few minutes and I couldn't sit still. The thing about insomnia is the more tired you get is the more wired you get. As I wandered around the lobby I enjoyed the looks that I was getting from the few people still wandering around at ten pm on a Friday night.

Normally my appearance is not all that remarkable, I am a tall , slim very attractive, brunette. My most noticeable feature being a pair of amazing crystal blue eyes that most people think are contacts. Today however I had a private showing at The Black Flame, a notorious Goth club where Black Masses are held in secret every Friday night, well secret to all but those who attend. The showing ran late and unaware there was a delay I raced to the airport without taking the time to change so needless to say I was quite a sight especially for boring old little Rhody.

I had straightened my long normally curly jet black hair (which I will admit to coloring over the last couple of years) so that it hung more than halfway down to my waist, that along with my heavy black eye makeup was a sharp contrast to my fair, no let's be honest, ghostly white complexion. My right arm from the tip of my shoulder down to my elbow was covered by a huge green and black tattoo of the Greek gorgon Medusa, the coils of her serpentine body wrapping around the inside of my arm as well, I was wearing a sleeveless tight black top that was held together by a row of metal hooks in the front, and although my skirt was ankle length, the slit up the side ran almost all the way up to my hip, the ensemble was completed by a pair of knee high black boots with three inch heels. I certainly didn't look like your typical woman pushing forty coming to see her brother.

Not that I was typical in anyway and nor for that matter was my brother Mark, as the two of us had not exactly had an easy path to where we are now. As I finished my little tour I sat back down and as was impossible not to do when visiting home I caught my mind drifting towards the past. Whenever I allow this to happen I am reminded of a quote from Milton's Paradise Lost: "Long is the way and hard, that out of hell leads up to light."

Mark and I had been separated at a very young age when our mother had to give us up and through a twist of fate were reunited in a foster home when we were older. I was almost eighteen at the time and had been adopted by Doug and Denise Hanson whom I have since been happy to call mom and dad. Upon getting news from a social worker that they had located my younger brother, Mom and Dad immediately got him placed with us despite the fact he was almost sixteen and had been considered a problem child.

In the time we had been apart neither of us had gone through unscathed. I had been sexually molested for almost two years before being placed with mom and dad at the age of twelve. I was told later on that because of it I could never have children and even now thirty years later am still plagued by brutal nightmares which don't help with the insomnia any. On Mark's end he had bounced around for a bit and ended up in a home where he was beaten so badly his skull had been cracked, putting him in the hospital which is what led to us ultimately finding him. It goes without saying that Mark wasn't too well off and it was almost a year before he would even speak on a regular basis he also suffered from severe night terrors, and to this day cannot sleep in total darkness.

As for today however, both Mark and I have done quite well for ourselves. After finally becoming abstinent from drugs and booze at the age of 34, I have made quite a name for myself as a painter in the underground Goth scene. At my last exhibit I sold three paintings for $10,000 a piece and at the showing today, I received a $5,000 deposit from some rich poser who was going to pay me another $20,000 for as he called it "A Megan Decosta Original." In case you're wondering my parents are extremely religious and my paintings could put Bosch to shame so I use my birth mothers name as my professional alias.

On his end Mark has also done quite well for himself, despite spending his early twenties drinking like a fish, and fucking- as well as fighting- like an animal, Mark graduated Summa cum Laud from Suffolk university and is currently a senior partner with one of the best Law firms in New England, where he has become one of the top prosecutors in the private sector, having to date never lost a conviction. In addition Mark has obtained some local notoriety. Dubbed by the press as "The Bad Boy" attorney as much for his wild past as his almost legendary nightlife Mark has it all, looks, money, connections and of course women, his pick of them. My brother has a mantra "Every woman wants him every man wants to be him." Sometimes when I'm around him it's hard to argue that it's not true.

Of course this is what the world sees. On the surface we are as good as it gets, underneath however the two of us are more than a little broken. Both Mark and I like a lot of abused children live with a constant fear of rejection and a feeling of emptiness that can never be filled although we've tried. I spent years trying to drown it in drugs and alcohol, now that addiction is in check, its working my ass off and spending brief periods of time pretending to be happy with someone who cannot possibly understand me. For my brother its pure excess, Mark works out two hours a day, holds three different black belts and works 60+ hours a week, with a sex life that consists of a series of 20 year olds that he refers to as pets, trust me I am not the only one with issues here. A couple of years ago Mark put it best when he said that he was like an Easter egg that someone had saved for awhile. Sure it was pretty on the outside but if it cracked you wouldn't want to be around to see what was inside.

Speaking of the devil, or as he puts it sometimes "Just one of his servants." I saw Mark come around the corner and enter the lobby. As I watched him I couldn't help but smile and enjoy the show. Extremely attractive people have an air of chaos about them, Eyes widen, jaws drop, and people receive dirty looks from their spouses when they're caught staring. My brother was one of those people, as he sauntered through the lobby every woman regardless of age turned to look as he walked past and the best part of it was that in just faded jeans and a tank top not one of them knew that in addition to the looks he was a six figure a year attorney. Mark saw me and as he came over I stood to greet him.

"Well hello my beautiful little brother." I said reaching out to embrace him. I meant to just give a quick hug, but found myself squeezing him tight and holding on, realizing just how much I had missed him as well as how badly I needed him right now.

"Hey big sis." Mark said softly in my ear, as he spoke I felt a sense of relief flood through me. I knew everything would be okay now. Ever since we were reunited, no how bad things got or how many people I alienated Mark was the one constant; he was everything to me, my brother, my best friend and the one person who had never given up on me. I finally let him go and stood back to look at him.

"Damn I'm glad to see you." I told him and smiled, now despite my dark persona and appearance I have been told that I have an infectious smile, blessed with the type of full lips most women get injections for, my smile is actually a bit lopsided, but is genuine and always touches my eyes. It was the type of smile people that always caused people to smile back. Which is exactly what Mark did, flashing me that killer smile that had spread more legs than a gynecologist.

"Same here Meg, it's been awhile."

As he spoke using the name that only he could get away with I looked Mark over thinking that he really was beautiful. Mark and I shared the same thick black hair and high cheek bones, but where I was fair with blue eyes, he was a bit darker and his eyes were a gorgeous shade of golden brown with flecks of green overall his features were a bit on the delicate side and he had been called "Pretty Boy" on more than one occasion. The beauty certainly did not stop at his face. Mark was slightly taller than I and was a hundred and ninety pounds of rock solid muscle, his shoulders were wide and his waist narrow, he was not muscle bound, but there was not a damn thing on him that was not exactly where it should be including a set of abs that would make a twenty year old jealous.

Mark, like me in a sleeveless shirt caught a bit of attention. Both of his arms shoulder to elbow were covered in enormous tattoo's, on the right was Pan the Celtic devil; horns, hooves and red eyes glaring, on the left was an incredibly detailed image of the Pale rider of revelations fame. With his build, the tats and his five o clock shadow Mark was flaunting the "Bad Boy" look and carried it damn well. As I looked at him his smile faded a bit.

"You look tired sis."

"I am little brother, I am."

"Just the flight or..." He trailed off.

"I'm having a bad spell Mark, a really bad spell." He nodded and reaching down grabbed my suitcase.

"Well then I'm glad you came up sis. You know that's what I'm here for." I smiled at him and kissed his scruffy cheek.

"That's right Mark; you always know exactly what I need."

We walked back through the lobby getting looks from both sexes now. I enjoyed the show as did Mark neither of us would ever deny being narcissistic. I stood out front with my suitcase while Mark went to get the car. It was a humid august night; the kind that you could taste the air and I hoped to hell Mark had air conditioning in that old car he drove. While standing there I watched a young mother playing with her baby and felt that familiar pang of heartache, this was a direct result of my mood as I'm not sure I would have ever wanted children, but it would have been nice to have the choice.

That train of thought was mercifully cut off as I heard the deep growl of Mark's perfectly restored grey 1972 Firebird. Mark jumped out and after tossing my suitcase in the trunk held the door open for me as he always did. Leaving the airport Mark got onto 95 north and immediately accelerated to a ridiculous speed. I leaned back in the seat and watched out the window as the houses and buildings blurred by.

"Are you hungry Meg?" Mark asked.

"Nah, I ate on the plane."

"You want to go...."

"Just your place," I told him "I'm not feeling up for anything okay?"

"Okay." He answered as we weaved in and out of the lanes. "The folks know you're here?"

"No, I'll surprise them tomorrow." Truth was I didn't want to get mom going, she could always read my voice. I figured a good night's sleep at Mark's and I would be in a better frame for my parents.

"Laura?" He asked glancing over at me. I shook my head.

"Nope, same old story there." He nodded and turned his eyes back to the road.

We drove in silence. To this day Mark still didn't talk a hell of a lot unless he was either drunk or trying to pick someone up so he was more than happy to leave me in my thoughts which at the moment weren't the happiest. Looking out the window I realized why I had decided to leave Rhode Island in the first place. Everywhere I looked were reminders of those dark days of addiction. Over there was the house that I had lived in for three months trading sex for a room to sleep in and an occasional fix. Oh, and there was the condo where my one time fiancé Tommy had to call the ambulance when he had found me passed out, needle still in my arm. Oh home sweet home I thought bitterly.

Fortunately it was only a fifteen minute ride to my brother's place. Mark lived in the Promenade, an old mill complex that had been converted to luxury condos several years ago. Mark pulled into the garage and parked next to the black 2008 Lexus that he referred to as his work car and would be mine to use for as long as I stayed. We took the elevator to the top floor and as we walked down the corridor towards Mark's corner apartment. I got a kick out an older couple that walked by, after giving us a dirty look I heard the woman comment

"There goes another one." And her husband's reply of;

"At least this one's over twenty one."

Marks apartment was absolutely gorgeous, 12 foot ceilings and an 8 foot window overlooking the Providence River. The apartment was beautifully furnished but had a very sterile feeling to it. Mark had no clue about furniture or style for that matter so he had a friend pick everything out. The entire place screamed urban professional which was so unlike my brother, but then again the apartment was very much like that pretty Easter egg Mark had referred to.

"You want anything?" Mark called out as he went into the kitchen.

"No I'm all set for now." I told him as I walked over to the door of the Master bedroom. Mark had carved two Celtic runes into the oak finish One the symbol for pleasure the other for pain. I opened the door and walking in thought that here indeed was the inside of that egg.

Depending on your beliefs Mark's bedroom was either breathtaking or terrifying. The room was a work of art, a gothic paradise and a testimony to a lifetime of occult influences and Sadomasochistic sex. The room was dominated by a massive four poster bed made of pure Ebony. Each column from floor to ceiling was carved with ancient symbols and in each of those four columns was a concealed door that could be opened by a master switch, exposing chains complete with manacles. Topping it off was a deep red enclosure of pure silk currently drawn all the way back. The bed had originally come from France and had once belonged to a warlock in New Orleans who had been burned at the stake. Mark had paid $25,000 for it ten years ago.

Next to each side of the bed was a matching ebony nightstand each of which supported massive candelabra containing five black candles which were all currently lit. This set had come from a castle in Ireland and had been given to Mark by a witch of some repute. Upon closer inspection the flames were small glass light bulbs, afraid of a fire Mark had them wired. The effect was made even more realistic by the fact that they were set to flicker. On the wall over each of these were paintings by none other than Megan Decosta herself, however not the successful one of today but the struggling one of twenty years ago who at the time was convinced she could only paint when wasted.

The room had another of those amazing eight foot windows but this one had been covered up with a black tapestry that depicted several of the planes of Dante's vision of hell. On the left and right wall directly opposite each other were framed portraits of Anton Levay and Aleister Crowley. The best effects of the bedroom however were the mirrors. The entire five foot headboard was covered with one which directly reflected the equally large one over the bureau behind me. As I stepped directly up to the foot of the bed I looked at my reflection and could see my back in the opposite mirror. Glancing up I smiled into the enormous mirror mounted to the ceiling that was the size of the entire bed. The set gave an incredible panoramic view of anything going on in the bed at just about any angle.

I heard the door close and looking into the headboard saw Mark come up behind me, he had removed his shirt and in the mirror behind him I saw the reflection of the huge tattoo that covered his muscular back: A Baphomet; the half man, half goat sitting cross legged within a circle, the universal symbol of Satanism, as I said I am not the only sick one in the family Over it in gothic lettering was the Latin expression Lex Talionis, The law of retaliation.

"Ready for bed already sis?" He asked as his arms slowly encircled my waist pulling me back into him. I reached down to my left hip and unsnapped the hook causing the skirt to fall to the floor exposing my red thong.

"I think you know what I'm ready for little brother." I said softly as I looked into his eyes through the mirror. Mark bent his head and after gently kissing my bare right shoulder, began working his way up my neck. I sighed and leaning back ground my ass into his crotch even through his jeans I could feel how hard he was.

"That feels sooo sweet," I whispered "But that's not what I need Mark. Just take it." After almost a year without cock I needed it and bad. As I spoke I reached my right arm back and ran my nails through his thick black hair.

"Yeah? You in a hurry sis?" He looked up in the mirror and smirked. "I though that's why you liked women; because they take their time." He then moved my hair and kissed the back of my neck.

"I said take me!" I snarled and grabbing a handful of his hair pulled hard forcing his head up to look at my reflection. "Or have you been playing with little girls so long you've forgotten how to take a woman?" I returned his smirk, in the mirror I saw Mark's eye's darken and prepared myself for the fucking I so desperately needed. Mark's hands came around and grabbing the top of my shirt tore it open with one powerful motion. I wasn't wearing a bra and my tits sprang free. I'm not large up top but they were still perfectly round and firm, each pink nipple pierced with a silver barbell.

"A woman," Mark sneered "More like a whore who's forgotten her place." With that he grabbed each of the barbells between his fingers and twisted hard. I cried out as an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain coursed through my body I swear I could feel my pussy begin to drip. Mark grabbed my hair and yanked my head back to look at him.

"Allow me to remind you." Stepping back Mark yanked on my hair again pulling me off balance, he deftly placed his leg behind mine causing me to trip. Using my hair as a handle he wrenched me completely around as I fell. My back struck the edge of the mattress and I slid down onto the floor in a sitting position my scalp burning with another delightful wave of pain.