The 'little' Sister

Chapter 1

A couple of weeks ago, my colleague Jeremy invited me over to his parents’ house for Christmas dinner. My own folks were going abroad for the cold season and as I was relatively new in town, accepting this generous offer seemed like the only rational option. I was, however, beginning to regret that decision as I parked up outside the address Jeremy had provided, to find out that my colleague came from money. Serious money. I struggled not to gape as I hopped out of my Corsa, balancing the petrol station flowers and chocolates I’d picked up on the drive over in one hand while shutting the car door behind me with the other.

“Christ, Jez, you could’ve warned me,” I muttered as I walked up the driveway.

Leafless hedges surrounded the grounds, brown now in winter, but still impeccably neat. A three-tiered fountain had frozen over, dusted with a fine coating of snow. The house itself was massive, one of those sorts of mansions with white columns framing the grand double doors and huge, arched windows that told of incredibly high ceilings and spacious rooms.

Shivering slightly against the cold, I pressed the doorbell and waited. I didn’t have to wait for long before the left door swung inward and warm, orange light spilled out.

“Alright, Shaun, you made it then,” Jeremy said, ushering me inside.

“Made it? Hard to miss a house this size, isn’t it?” I answered.

Almost as I expected, a grand staircase swept away up one wall of the cavernous entrance hall to a landing above. Soft, cream carpets ran from wall to wall and a giant, incredibly pretentious yet no less stunning for that fact chandelier depended from the ceiling. Stars and glowing icicles had been added to it, I saw, as well as streams of silver tinsel.

“Is that him, Jeremy?” A voice called, and two seconds later a thin, immaculately dressed and styled woman appeared.

“You must be Mrs Keegan,” I said, smiling, and holding out the bouquet of gas-station flowers.

“Please call me Laura,” Jeremy’s mother responded, accepting the overpriced and underwhelming gift. “You shouldn’t have,” she said.

Silently, I agreed with her. Showing up empty handed would have been less embarrassing, certainly. Before I could think of anything to say, a door opened and a girl wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of vertically striped pyjama bottoms emerged, staring down at her phone. She was a few inches taller than her mother and by no means as thin. Wide-hipped with thighs that rubbed together as she walked, her plump curves obvious, even beneath the baggy shirt that exposed much more of one soft, rounded shoulder than the other.

“Oh, Georgia,” Jeremy’s mother scolded instantly, “I told you we were having guests, didn’t I! Go on upstairs and make yourself presentable.

Jeremy’s little sister glanced up and dismissed me almost instantly with a shrug. “It’s just Jezza’s colleague,” she retorted, “I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

“Uh, no,” I said, “no, not at all. In fact, here. Merry Christmas.”

I extended the box of chocolates toward Georgia, which turned out to be quite the mistake. Laura practically snapped the box from my hand.

“I’ll take those, thank you very much, Shaun.”

The look Georgia shot her mother was filled with loathing and hurt, her green eyes blazing.

“Uh, sorry,” I said, addressing Georgia.

“It’s not you who should be sorry,” Jeremy’s sister stated flatly, still glaring at her mother as she stalked, very childishly, up the stairs.

“Sorry about that,” Laura apologised, once her daughter had disappeared from view. “She’s on a very strict diet, you see. No chocolate allowed.”

“Ah,” I responded. “I didn’t know.”

Jeremy, I noticed, looked as though he was trying not to laugh. I narrowed my eyes at him and he simply grinned.

“Come on, mate, I’ll get you a drink.”

***

Half an hour or so later, we were all sat around the main dining table, a table so large it could have seated forty, yet the five of us were clustered together around one corner. Derrick, Jeremy’s father was at the head of the table, with his wife and daughter on his right. Jez and I, therefore, on his left.

We were all smartly dressed, or smartly enough. Shirts and ties for the men, sparking, festive dresses for the women. Laura’s was a pale pink while her daughter’s a dark green that accentuated her curvaceous form perfectly. High cut as it was, the swell of her ample bosom was magnificent, complimented by the pale, soft skin of her bared arms. The dress cut in around her waist and clung to her hips, and when she sat down, the gentle yet significant bulge of her stomach pressed up against the fabric. Georgia had combed her light brown hair back from her face, letting it fall in loose waves to beneath her shoulders, and she’d applied some make-up since the first time I’d seen her, darkening her eyes and painting her lips. I found it slightly irritating that the table concealed so much, even sat across from her as I was, but there was little I could do about it.

Conversation flowed like wine, though Georgie rarely contributed anything besides the occasional murmur of assent when directly addressed. In fact, she kept staring down at her lap until her mother, clearly annoyed, prodded her in the ribs and hissed:

“Put that thing away, Georgia.”

“But it’s getting to the good part,” Georgia protested.

“Now,” Laura said firmly, maintaining a perfect smile on her face.

With a scowl, Jeremy’s sister plopped what turned out to be a Kindle, and not a mobile as I’d initially assumed, onto the table, shoving it away from her.

After that brief interlude, we continued to exchange pleasantries, Derrick showing a keen interest in the work both his son and I were involved in. Before too long, dinner was served, by actual serving staff, that’s how rich Jeremy’s folks are, and we all tucked in. The first ten, fifteen minutes passed in comfortable quiet as we ate, sometimes pausing to compliment the scrumptiousness of the turkey, or perhaps that wonderful taste to the gravy, cinnamon, perhaps? All was going well until I, again, made a blunder.

Georgia had finished her initial serving before the rest of us, and I had noticed that it had been significantly smaller than the helping I myself had been given, or Jeremy, or Derrick for that matter. Laura, of course, had had a tiny portion, but then, she was a small woman. I noticed her green eyes scanning the still steaming serving plates and pots dotted around the table and, unthinking fool that I am, I put my hand beneath the bowl of mashed potatoes and offered it over.

“No,” Laura intervened sternly. “She’s had enough.”

The silence that followed as I carefully put the potatoes back down was deafening. Georgia bit her bottom lip and pushed away from the table. Picked up her Kindle and left without a word.

***

An hour or so later, once the food had been cleared away, we retired to one of the living rooms. In this room, I discovered, a huge Christmas tree stood, bedecked with fine gold decorations and lights, shimmering streamers and glimmering baubles.

“Go fetch your sister,” Laura informed Jeremy, who obeyed instantly.

I settled myself onto one of the sofas and was just chatting to Derrick when Jez returned, Georgia in tow. She had changed back into her comfy clothes, though her hair and make-up remained, and was reading her Kindle.

Laura took it upon herself, of course, to dish out the presents. I was surprised and once again embarrassed when she passed me an enormous box wrapped in yellow paper that, upon opening, held all manner of bathing products, deodorants and shaving creams.

“Well, you can’t not have something to open, can you?” She’d said.

It was all I could do to agree and thank her for her generosity.

Georgia, on the other hand, had received a number of books she clearly appreciated as her mood had lifted significantly and she was no longer semi-sulking. Her next gift, however, handed to her by Laura, changed all that.

“Mum,” Georgia stated flatly, “what am I supposed to do with this?”

She’d just unpacked a top of a pale blue with thin shoulder straps that, even to my inexpert eyes, looked far too small for her.

“It’s motivation, darling,” Laura responded tersely.

Georgia’s jaw twitched and she rose to her feet, her hands clenching and unclenching. She picked up her Kindle once again and left the room.

***

A couple of hours later, I was back in my car. I’d just turned on the ignition and was warming it up, letting the fog on the windows clear. I hadn’t seen anything of Georgia since that last storming out, which was a shame, but also entirely understandable.

I was just about to move off, when to my surprise, Georgia appeared, stalking out of the end of the drive, not noticing me and my Corsa at all, as she turned right and walked off down the pavement. Without thinking, I hopped out of the car and called after her:

“Georgia?” She either didn’t hear me, or didn’t want to hear me. “Georgia!” I tried again, raising my voice, and gave chase when she didn’t stop.

“Hey, Georgia,” I said, catching up to her, lightly touching her elbow so that she span around, wide-eyed.

“Oh,” she gasped. “It’s you. Sorry, I was in my own head for a while. You’re going, are you? Well, it was nice to meet you.”

“Are you OK?” I asked.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and slightly puffy. She was wearing a large, thick coat, though no hat and gloves, and her shoes were trainers that did not look waterproof, and indeed, already looked a little dampened from the snow. She was still wearing her striped pyjama bottoms too, I noticed.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

“No, you’re not,” I responded. “Look, I’m, uh, sorry if I landed you in hot water with your mum back there.”

Georgia snorted. “It’s not your fault. She’s just like that.”

A moment’s awkward silence stretched between us.

“Uh, are you going anywhere? I could give you a lift,” I offered, pointing at my car.

Georgia’s eyes flickered back to her parents’ house before she answered. “I was just going for a walk, to clear my head, but yeah, sure.”

“Where can I take you then?” I asked, as Georgia buckled herself up.

She was a substantial girl, no doubt about it, and in that big coat, she looked bigger still in the passenger seat of my small Corsa, but it was by no means a tight fit or anything.

“I don’t even know,” she murmured.

Another, longer moment’s awkward silence stretched between us.

“Like, are you hungry?” I asked.

Georgia’s green eyes blazed at mine and I immediately tried to backtrack.

“No, seriously, I mean it. Are you? I mean, you got like, no food at lunch, so I just thought, I don’t know, I could take you somewhere to eat, if you’re hungry, or whatever.”

The fire in her eyes dimmed somewhat as I tried to explain myself, and what remained, I realised, was not aimed at me, but at her mother.

“Yes,” she replied, in a soft voice. “I’m really, really hungry.”

“Any ide-”

“McDonald’s,” she said instantly. “It’s the only place that’ll be open anyway.”

***

Not long later, I found myself in the carpark of McD’s, watching as Georgia ate the four cheeseburgers she’d ordered. There was not a single second of doubt in my mind, as I watched, that she would finish them all, and my expectation was firmly met.

“That,” she said when she was done, washing them down with a mouthful of Coke, “was so needed.”

I grinned.

“So, this diet, of yours?”

Georgia snorted again. “It’s not my diet. It’s my mum’s.”

“Do you do this often then?”

“This? What, sneak out for burgers? No. She’d find out, plus I don’t have a car. But you know what, it’s Christmas, and she royally embarrassed me enough today, so fuck it. McD’s it is.”

“Embarrassed you how?”

Her green eyes found mind. “You don’t think that was embarrassing back there? First with the chocolates, then with the potatoes, then with the ‘motivational’ top I’ll never be able to wear.”

“Is that why you were storming off?” I asked.

“Oh, you missed the last part, did you?”

“Last part?”

Georgia barked a laugh. “I put on that ‘motivational’ top and went back downstairs, just to show her how ridiculous a gift it is. I can barely fit in it and I tore some of the stitches as I squeezed it on. Anyway, mum called me a fat sow and that I should be grateful she was taking such an active interest in my weight, because someone had to, or else I’d end up obese, unloved and alone. So I just grabbed my coat and left.”

I blinked, trying to process all of that.

“The irony, of course, is that I’m still wearing that tiny top, and it’s cutting pretty tight now.” She let out a sigh. “So I guess mum wins again anyway.”

“How does she win?” I asked after a time.

“That’s just me being petty,” Georgia responded, sighing even more deeply. “I know she loves me and wants what’s best for me, but for the last couple of years, it feels like she’s just trying to make my life miserable. And she’s good at doing that, believe me.”

“I can believe that.”

Georgia shot me a glance.

“I mean, well, yeah, like you said, I saw what I saw today.”

Georgia sighed again. “It just sucks, you know? I don’t know why my weight is such a big deal to her. I’m not bothered, so why does she have to be bothered?”

“You’re not bothered?” I asked, feeling myself grow aroused.

Georgia shook her head. “Not really, no. My two main pleasures in life are reading and eating. Well, reading still, but not eating anymore, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And I’m not an idiot, I mean, I know what such a sedentary lifestyle means for my body. But mum refuses to accept it.”

“So why do you still live there?”

Georgia laughed again. “Ugh, long story. The concise version is that I had a bad breakup, Covid hit and lockdown was shit, I lost my study job and I failed my degree, and so I moved back home to get back on my feet.”

“Wow,” I said, not sure what else to say.

“Yeah, only that all started three years ago and I’m still there.” Georgia smiled a small, wry smile. “You know the first thing mum said to me as I walked in through the door with my boxes of stuff?”

I shook my head.

“You’re going on a diet, missy. From right this moment, you’re going on a strict diet.”

I whistled. “Jesus.”

“At first, I thought, OK, fine. Because I was kind of a mess, you know, I was sort of happy to let my mum take over for a bit. And yeah, I had nothing against losing a few kilos, I mean, yeah, I was fat back then, sure, but still, I never expected her to go this overboard. And definitely not to carry on for so long.”

My mind was reeling. “You’ve been dieting for three years?”

“And not by choice,” Georgia responded glumly. “I’d thought that she’d let up after I lost the first ten kilos, but no. Not even by twenty. And would you believe that even now when I’m down over fifty kilos, I’m still not allowed a second helping of mashed potatoes on Christmas fucking day?”

Fifty kilos? I tried to picture Georgia with that extra weight on her and found myself even more aroused. Oh, she would have looked good.

“That’s insane,” I answered, knowing she wanted a response.

“Right?”

“Absolutely. Christ, if it was me, I’d just let you do whatever you wanted, you know. It’s your body, your choice.”

Georgia smiled weakly and took another slurp of Coke. “Thanks,” she said. “Ugh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to vent all this out on you, I just get so wound up sometimes, you know? And here you are, being all nicely sympathetic and polite because I’m practically holding you hostage here, and you probably just want to kick me out of your car and get home.”

She put her hand on the door handle.

“No,” I blurted, and she paused. “No, I don’t mind, honestly. It’s nice talking to you, truly. And I meant what I said, you know, I wasn’t just like parroting whatever you’d said back to you. I genuinely think you should be able to decide what you do with yourself. Totally.”

“That puts you in the minority then,” Georgia said.

I shrugged. “Maybe, but that’s fine by me.”

She looked at me as though she were just beginning to notice me properly for the first time. And that was probably true, I realised. Georgia had been fighting her own demons, and as she’d pointed out, I had merely been caught in the crossfire of her ire.

“Well, I should probably be getting home,” Georgia said after a time.

“I’ll drive you, of course,” I offered.

“Thanks,” she replied, smiling.

I turned the key and the engine started up once more. I put the car into gear and then stopped, foot on the brake.

“You know, if you want dessert or anything before we go back, it’s sort of now or never.”

Georgia glanced over at the large yellow M logo, a thoughtful look on her face as she slurped the last of her Coke.

“You know what, fuck it. Let’s do it.”

***

Two McFlurries later and we were ready to go.

“You know,” I said as I pulled out of the carpark, “and please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t recall ever having seen anyone eat two McFlurries in one go.”

“Yeah, well,” Georgia replied after a while. “Ice cream is sort of my go-to.”

“Your go-to?” I asked.

“My favourite, I guess would be more accurate. Back in the day, before I moved back in with my parents, I used to binge ice cream, lying on my sofa while reading a good book.” There was a wistful tone in her voice.

From the corner of my eye, I could see that Georgia was opening the top buttons of her coat.

“How does one binge ice cream?”

Georgia snorted. “How does one binge anything? One simply does a thing to what others may perceive as being excessive.”

“Like two McFlurries?”

“Ha, no,” she laughed. “That’s not excessive. Indulgent, perhaps, but not excessive.”

She’d undone yet more of her coat and was now pulling the seatbelt away from her bosom as she slipped one hand inside the jacket.

“What are you doing?” I asked, struggling to resist the urge to turn my head and inspect what was going on.

“The only slight problem with ice cream is that I’m actually a little lactose intolerant, only a little mind, but it does sort of make me feel a bit bloated, and this bloody top is doing me no favours.”

Georgia grunted slightly and I was suddenly aware of a ripping sound as, presumably, yet more stitches of the ‘motivational’ top tore.

“You want me to pull over?” I tried to keep the hope from my voice.

“No, no,” Georgia dismissed my offer as she over-stretched her top one more time. “I think I’ve got it.”

Unable to stop myself, I risked a glance to the side and my eyes widened as I caught sight of the light blue fabric of her top, straining over her confined breasts and belly. The hem was now wrinkled from where she’d torn the elasticated stitching, and a good few inches of soft, round flesh spilled out beneath it, disappearing into the shadows of her coat. My heart began to race in my chest.

With no obvious sign of haste, Georgia started closing her coat again, one button at a time, and I forced myself to keep my eyes on the road.

“Better?” I asked.

“Much,” she replied.

***