...hat it mattered to Danny. Or anyone else for that matter). Masturbating didn’t seem like the path to take, although he did have some very nice pictures of his “dream girl”. Being the best friend of the worlds biggest “blerd” could have its perks, he reasoned once, as Tucker handed him a file of stolen security camera photos.
It came to him on that day, when his boredom seemed to great to overcome, that Jazz hadn’t spoken to him all day. She was nosey at that time. She always was. She butted in, she questioned him, she threatened his secrets. But she was his sister, and that is what prompted him to walk up the stairs toward her room, knock on her closed (and locked) bedroom door, and call out softly, “Jazz?”
She squealed. Something fell onto the floor. He could hear a light, unmistakable buzzing noise as a small “toy” vibrated on the ground. Her bed squeaked as she quickly got up, and for a moment the only sound was her stumbling about. The buzzing stopped and she quickly opened the door, peeking her head out so anything lower than her neck was invisible. Not that it mattered to Danny. Because although he could only see her face, it didn’t matter. Everything was kinda readable from what he once though was an innocent visage.
Her cheeks were rosy from some kind of exertion, or embarrassment, or most likely, both. Her hair was frumpy, matted,...