by Lana Fox
(01/13/10)
The storage room is mine now the shop is closed; I always end up here, going through the open sacks, running the coffee beans through my hands as the naked bulb glows down. I hear the door slam, and suddenly Sol is behind me, dragging a finger down my jaw, his free hand on my hip. I turn, still bent from the waist, glancing up from beneath my lashes. Today I half-expected this, which is why I dressed so carefully, with stockings, garter-belt, and perfume sprayed in clouds. "We shouldn't," I whisper, but I don't sound sure. This has been building for days since he moved into our flat -- I've felt the brush of our wrists in the kitchen as I sliced white bread, his hand on my knee over dinner while Mamma was fighting with Pa. 
And here, in the storage room, Sol sweeps my skirt up over my hips and, with his free hand, reaches between my thighs. My body jolts. My mouth falls open. I gasp like I do when I've burnt my finger. Sol's not like Pa's friend, Julian, who touches me roughly, groping me, taunting me, calling me his "tramp," all because he knows Pa won't believe me if I tell him. No, Sol is different. His hair is sun-streaked -- gilded like the angels -- and his stare is as soft as a tiger-cub's as he leans right over me, his lips slightly parted, caressing my stocking-top where the clip takes hold. "I never craved like this," he says. "Not once. Not ever."
As I press myself back against him, rubbing my thighs on his, I feel his sex, hard as steel, and shudder, murmuring, "Sol," breathing in the aromas of the preciousness beneath us -- roasts so deeply scented they fill my head. I grab his wrist and splay his hand on my breast: an action that unleashes us so we're tumbling forwards, falling onto the sacks, and he's peeling down my top so my bare breasts press right onto the beans -- this is the coffee I'll later scoop up with such duty, serving customers bags of French roast, building the family business...family, all for family. You'll never go to college, my girl, they had told me. You'll continue what we've started. We're your parents, d'you hear me? I will teach my daughter pride. The open sacks form a mattress of coffee as I reach back, unzipping Sol's jeans, and tell him to do it, just once. "We'll get it over with," I say. "After, we'll be free."
"You know we won't," he breathes, but his sex is already pushing into mine, and the force of his thrusts comes like an unexpected thunder, harder and harder, as his weight presses me down. I'm even wetter than I'd thought -- have been slick now for days -- and he slides into me as easily as a scoop into Sumatra. With his body on mine, and his hair on my nape, his savageness is glorious; over and over the sacks heave beneath us as I'm forced, ever-deeper, into the mounds of glossy beans. I claw the sackful, fingers planted in, the heels of my hands grinding deep into the harvest, and my own moans are echoed by the groaning of the sacks, their contents shunting lower, pressing harder to the floor. My cheek falls onto the coffee, wet from where I've drooled, and I'm swallowed by its scent. I open myself wider, crying out like the wounded, as the shucker-shuck of beans becomes the sound of our fucking. "Therese!" He presses the hard little shapes against my burning nipple. "To think I may never have met you."
Family. They demand your loyalty then don't even tell you the truth, and when their lies are exposed, they expect you to be normal. They always said I was an only child, meant to shoulder her burdens alone.
Well, I'm done with 'alone.' It's gotten me nowhere.
Sol, my lover, raised by perfect strangers. Sol, slick inside me, like a sap-drenched stem, as I open myself, flowerlike, only for him. My arms sink through the beans and they absorb me, pull me down. He cries like a wild horse, hand clamped against my breast, and his thrusts come so fiercely that the sacks beneath us split and the beans erupt easily, flooding the room. French roast, Italian, Sumatra all merge -- sliding against our bodies, bearing us down. I come myself, now, hot and deep, yelling his name as we sink through the carnage. My mouth fills with beans, they stick to my lips, I feel them rough within my sex as we pound together. Inside my cunt I hold the heat, as if it will never escape me, and I keep on coming. I shake with the pleasure, rolling my hips, clenching my fists in the mess of beans.
Sol, the forbidden.
Sol, my long lost brother.
Once, you were their secret.
Now you're mine.
