How My Sister Tried to Seduce My Hand

This weekend, I went home to visit my family.  Everything seemed normal until Saturday night.

My sister and I still have to share a queen size bed whenever we are home.  But we’ve been sharing a bed for years, so that isn’t too bad.  I’m used to it.

I was extremely tired on Saturday, so I decided to go to bed early.  My sister on the other hand had to work until 11:00.

So after blissfully entering the realm of the unconscious, I didn’t notice when my sister entered the room and fell asleep beside me.

It didn’t start getting weird until around two o’clock in the morning.  I was awakened by something touching my hand.  I looked over at my sister, and immediately found the reason.  She was holding and caressing my hand. 

Along with these caresses, she was also kissing my hand.  It was like watching a gentleman caller brushing his lips against the hand of his ladylove.

As if this wasn't enough, between the kisses, she kept whispering, “I love you.”

     *Kiss* 

          I love you. 

               *Kiss* 

                    I love you. 

                         *Kiss* 

                              I love you.

She managed to land three kisses on my hand before my brain finally jumped from snooze into hyper drive.  I jerked away from my sister. 

For a second, I thought she was joking around—I was about to punch her in the arm for being a weirdo at two in the morning, but I quickly discovered that she was sound asleep.

Feeling very awkward, I turned away from my sister and tried to reestablish REM.

In the morning, when she was finally awake, I asked her about it, but she doesn’t remember anything.  No hand kissing.  No whispered “I love you’s.”  No dreams.  Nothing.

I may not know what she was dreaming about, but I’ve made my own conclusions as to why she was so turned on by my hand—to the unconscious person, I am undeniably sexy.  

Even something as small as my hand is simply irresistible. 

I Was "Apparently" That Girl...

All throughout my Middle School and some of my High School years, when most people were starting to join cliques, I didn’t quite fit in with anyone.  I was that girl.  You know the one?  The loner, weirdo girl with no friends?  Well, I was that girl.

I had no real friends.  I was awkward, silent, and creepy.  The only person that wasn’t afraid to speak to me was a punk rockish girl named Jesse who seemed to go out of her way to say hi to me—not in a good way, but in an “I feel sorry for you” way.  Sometimes her constant habit of trying to be nice would annoy me because she seemed friendly, but she never wanted to really hang out or get to know me.

It wasn’t until years later (after we had truly become friends) that I found out the reason for her supposed friendliness.

Years later, while we were hanging out, I finally asked her about it. 

Me:            “Do you remember when we were in Middle School?  What was with the pity hellos?  Why did you do that?”

            Jesse:            “Do you really wanna know?”

            Me:            “Yes.”

            Jesse:            “You were the one.”

            *awkward silence*

            Me:            “What do you mean by that?”

Jesse:            “Well, if anyone in the school was going to snap and eventually blow half the school away, it was going to be you.  I just wanted you to think I was nice.  You know… just in case.”

Touché, Jesse.  Touché.  You were wise beyond your years and for that... I let you live.