SWOLLEN: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Stephanie Brother

  The only place I don’t get a visual reminder of Landon’s enormity, I have the pleasure of his company instead. I guess I should enjoy the peace while it lasts.

  I watch the bars on my cell phone drop one by one, before the signal cuts out completely. This is it. We’ve only been on the road less than half an hour, and already I’m out of range of external communication. That means no internet, no facebook stalking, no twenty four hour news updates, no friends.

  None of that would matter if I was going on a romantic holiday with a delicious boyfriend, but a family holiday with someone else’s family? I’m going to die of boredom.

  Mom found this place on the internet, which is ironic really, considering it was probably built before the internet even existed. The last family holiday I went on was when Dad was still around. I guess that’s the other thing that Landon and I have got in common, not only is The Donkey an only child like me, his parents went through a messy divorce when he was around about the same age.

  Mom didn’t tell me that. I read it in his unauthorized autobiography, which as you can imagine, is also called The Donkey, and features several photos in various positions, of his somewhat remarkable appendage. I reckon it’s all enhanced though, even if several people claim otherwise.

  Marvin and Landon’s mom split up when Landon was only thirteen years old. That’s when my mom found out that my dad was screwing the next door neighbor. I found out later on that he was screwing her in their bed when I was at school, and he was home, supposedly, on long term sickness.

  Every time it comes up, which thankfully isn’t all that often, Mom makes a point of highlighting the fact that the sickness was never confirmed, neither by the doctors nor his previous employers at the time.

  After that, I didn’t see much of him again, and I still don’t see him.

  Marvin’s different. He knows what it’s like to have someone you are supposed to be in a relationship with screw around on you, and it means he understands what it was like for Mom. God knows how Landon turned out so differently. I guess he just went the other way, and took after his mom.

  I’m not the bed them and leave them type, and there is no way I would put up with anyone doing that to me, no matter how famous they were or how much their assets extended to.

  I’ve had one one night stand in my entire life, and one sort of long term on and off relationship, which kind of fizzled out in the end like a damp firework. It’s not because I’m not looking either, it’s that I just haven’t found the right man yet. I don’t date players, I don’t date man whores, I don’t date asshole, alpha males, and I don’t date dick heads looking for a hook up, so I guess that kind of narrows the selection down to almost no-one.

  Plus, I have no idea where my life is taking me at the moment, so finding a man doesn’t exactly fit into that pattern. I have to prioritize and work that out first, before I even think about settling down.

  I’ve absent mindedly flicked to one of the adverts and it takes me a moment to realize who it is I’m staring at, before I close the magazine again, disgusted with myself. He literally is everywhere. I mean, come on, he can’t exactly be the only big dicked model available for photo shoots can he? Why is it always about the size of his dick anyway? Why does that even matter?

  Why can’t they talk about his blue eyes, his tousled hair, the biceps that make his jersey look like it’s painted on, his cocky smile, the way he leans against his car, taller than he looks on TV.

  Oh fuck. He’s here. We’re here. How did that happen already? It’s him. It’s Landon The Donkey Maddox and he’s staring right at me.

  And where the fuck am I staring? You’ve guessed it. Where the fuck else?

  “I thought it was going to be bigger than that.”

  I catch myself just in time, halting an embarrassing response. When I realize what Mom’s really talking about, I shift my gaze quickly over towards the house. Although, it’s not a house. It’s not even a cottage. It’s so small, it looks like the shed they store the garden tools in.

  I’m about to complain when my door opens.

  “Hey”, Landon says, stood there by my side, my magazine come to life. “Welcome to paradise.”

  Landon

  Any wider and her jaw would have been scraping on the ground so much she could have collected pebbles in her mouth. I know I usually have that effect on women, but most of them go some way to trying to hide it. She better not be some crazy super fan, because that’s the last thing I need right now. Step sister or not, if this turns dark, I’m going straight back to the city.

  “It’s really small.”

  My eyes go down to what I think she’s talking about, catch hers on the way back up when I realize my mistake, and then over to the country cottage behind me.

  “Maybe it’ll look bigger when you see it for real.”

  Already on her way to going red, that comment might have just pushed her to the color of an eggplant. Judging by the scowl she’s throwing at me though, she isn't at all impressed by my humor. A week in a tiny country cottage playing happy families? Maybe this is going to be fun after all.

  “Landon, let your sister out of the car and give us a hand with the bags.”

  “Right.”

  I smile and hold the door open for her in the same way a chauffeur might do for the Queen.

  “Step sister”, Tilly says as she climbs out past me, unaware that the magazine she’s left on the seat behind her is open at one of my advert pages.

  “Sister, step sister, whatever, it’s all the same to me. We are all the same family now, and we are here, principally, to get to know each other. I don’t want anyone to forget that.”

  Rachel is alongside us both now. “Tilly, this is Landon. Landon, Tilly.”

  Tilly folds her arms across her chest.

  “I know who it is.”

  I don’t know whether she’s nervous, starstruck or just bummed out to be here, but damn it feels icy all of a sudden. After giving me the dinner plate eyes on the approach, this body language is a little bit unexpected. Maybe the joke about my dick went down the wrong way, because not only does she look like she wants to be here even less than I do, she seems completely uninterested by me.

  I try and loosen her up a bit while Dad dumps bags out of the trunk and Rachel goes off in search of the key. She could just be crushing and unable to express it. That happens, especially with younger girls.

  “You know I’m just like everyone else, right? You don’t have to treat me differently, just because I’m famous.”

  Tilly looks over to me. She’s got a cute face even when she’s obviously jacked off. She looks like she’s put on her best dress and fixed her hair especially too, which kind of makes me wonder, primarily because it’s not exactly what you’d usually wear to the country.

  “You’re hardly famous, you’re an American footballer.”

  Wow! That was low. I’m ready to defend myself but Dad beats me too it.

  “Record breaking American footballer.”

  “And a model”, I add, unprepared to let her downplay me.

  “An underwear model.”

  Tilly is not impressed at all. Any colder and she’d be re-joining the iceberg she’s obviously just split off from. Maybe’s it’s just her time of the month, and she’s collected all of them up to use in one go.

  “Come on you two, stop squabbling and help me get this over to the house.”

  Dad’s done unpacking the trunk, so I load myself up with bags. Tilly insists on lugging her own case, just to prove she’s capable, and I watch her struggling with it all the way to the house.

  “I’m impressed you know”, I whisper to her on the way. “I didn’t think you were allowed to buy those kinds of magazines at your age.”

  I don’t give her a chance to backchat me, and by the time she makes it up to the porch, Rachel is waiting there to engage us.

  “Good news or bad news?”

  “Mom?”

  “Honey, don’t look so
worried.”

  “Good news”, Dad says.

  This is pure entertainment for me. I had no idea Tilly would be so animated or easy to wind up, but this is going to be a lot of fun. Growing up as an only child, I never got the chance to tease a younger sibling, which on reflection, is probably why I got so good at football. If Tilly gets this upset just by looking at me, this week is going to pass in no time.

  “There’s a jacuzzi!”

  No swimming costume, but that’s never stopped me before.

  “We have a jacuzzi at home”, Tilly says. “What’s the bad news?”

  “You might want to come and see.”

  Tilly

  This is not happening. Please tell me this isn’t happening.

  “Three beds, Mom. You said three beds. The advert said three beds.”

  “Well, to be fair, there are three beds.”

  Gah. Twin beds in one room and a double bed in the other doesn’t count. Am I the only one that seems bothered by this somewhat integral anomaly.

  “Maybe they meant the lounge. Is this a sofa bed?”

  I watch The Donkey wrestle momentarily with the tiny two seater sofa, until he determines beyond reasonable doubt, that it isn’t in fact guilty of camouflaging itself as a bed.

  “I can’t stay in here with him.”

  Mom looks at me and then she looks at Marvin and then everyone looks at me. The Donkey shrugs his thick, muscly shoulders.

  “They said it was perfect for a family. Three beds, cute little cottage in the countryside. It is a cute little cottage.”

  “I’m fine with it.”

  Landon has already put his bag down and is testing the bed for comfort.

  “Mom?”

  “It is what it is, darling. We’ll just have to make do.”

  “Make do. I’m nineteen years old, not nine.”

  “Nineteen, are you really?”

  I don’t like the way Landon is looking at me.

  “Can you call them?”

  “And say what?”

  “I don’t know, maybe they can put us in a different cottage, or they can give us a refund or whatever.”

  “Sleep in the lounge if it bothers you that much, but I’m staying here.”

  That’s typical of him.

  “Come on, you’re both adults, I’m sure we can work this out.”

  “Exactly, Marvin. Adults need their own space. I can’t believe you booked this with only two rooms.”

  “Well, maybe Landon will take the lounge then.”

  “No, he won’t.”

  “Am I the only one that sees a problem with this?”

  I’m being ignored. Marvin is busy unpacking the bags while Mom takes control of the kitchen and Landon just lies there on the bed in what should be my room, his huge arms folded up by his head, my question hanging in the air.

  “Fine, I’ll sleep in the lounge.”

  “Do whatever you like, dear, but you know Marvin and I get up early and I don’t want you in the way.”

  Great. The Donkey gets a whole room to himself, while I have to get up at the crack of dawn with superman and wonderwoman. I should never have come on this holiday in the first place. I knew he’d be like this too. Arrogant, selfish, chauvinistic, and frustratingly good looking.

  I get half way through wrestling the mattress off the bed before I realize there is no way I’ll be able to set up my bed until everyone has finished with the lounge, which also rather conveniently doubles as the dining room. Landon watches me with his sexy eyes, laughing every now and again at my efforts. Screw him. Even if I have to get up at 6 am, I’m still going to get a much better night’s sleep without being in the same room as him and listening to him go on and on about how many records he’s broken or how thick his biceps are or just how long it takes him to wash every inch of his perfect, swollen, manhood.

  I decide to take a walk around the property just to cool off. The tour of the house, which from now on I’m refusing to call anything other than the bungalow, takes about a minute. The lounge, which also doubles as my bedroom, the dining room, and open plan kitchen, is at the centre of the property and is where the front door immediately opens on to. From that, there is a room either side, the smaller of which - The Donkey’s room - has the bathroom next to it.

  Perhaps the bungalow’s best feature is a huge single wall set of french windows that lead onto the decking at the back of the property, upon which sits a jacuzzi that looks like it hasn’t been used in years. Beyond, and as far as the eye can see, there are fields that disappear towards the horizon.

  I can’t see another house, bungalow, shed, kennel or any other structure that might offer shelter or a suggestion of inhabitation. A walk to what looks like a flattened perimeter fence at the bottom of what I guess is the garden to the property, takes about five minutes. From here, if I wanted to, I could walk for what looks like hours across fields without getting anywhere.

  It’s isolated, and it’s supposed to be peaceful, but I’m not entirely sure whether it is or not.

  My cell phone still has no bars. I head to what looks like the highest spot on the land, and I still can’t get reception.

  One week. Seven days. One hundred and fifty six hours. Just me, The Donkey, my mom, his dad, a huge penis, and a whole lot of nothing else to concentrate on. This is going to kill me.

  Landon

  While Little Miss Moody goes off to the end of the garden to hopefully never return again, I make the space she’s left me my own. I haven’t brought a lot of stuff with me, just a few hundred movies, weights, skipping rope, running shoes and essential exercise gear, magazines - but not the kind of shit she reads, a signal booster for my cell phone that doesn’t work, and as many footballs as I could fit into the trunk. The garden, cornfield, wild forest or whatever you call it, looks like the perfect place to practise my targeting, and I already know who I’m going to get to bring the balls back to me as well. Tilly might not look too bad skipping across the fields in a short cheerleader’s skirt either. She looks like the kind of girl who might need to do a bit of that to let her hair down.

  Once I’ve got myself organized, I’ve checked out the jacuzzi and the rest of the miniscule property, I slump down on the couch in the living room and wait for something interesting to happen.

  It doesn’t.

  “How long are we here for again?”

  “One week, Landon.”

  How is it exactly that no matter where they are, parents never seem to get bored? Rachel’s waltzing around the kitchen like she’s been here a thousand times already, something on the stove and God knows what else already in the oven, and Dad’s found an armchair, and a stack of maps and tourist pamphlets in a drawer, he’s busy strategically going through.

  “One week. Remind me exactly what it is we are doing here? I can’t even get cell phone reception.”

  “What do you need your cell phone for?”

  “To connect with the world.”

  Rachel doesn’t seem at all impressed by that.

  “Landon! Look at this place. It’s incredibly beautiful. We are surrounded by countryside, nature, trees, this is the world.”

  “The world has people in it.”

  “Why don’t you go and find your sister if you’re looking for something to do, maybe you two can play a board game or something.”

  I don’t even dignify that comment with a response.

  “Look, I don’t know what you did when you were my age, but people these days need their cell phones, they need the internet. I didn’t even think there were places in the world where you couldn’t get a cell phone reception.”

  “You can last a week without Facebook, it’ll do you good.”

  This is going to be harder than I thought it would be. Less than an hour in, and I’m already bored. Maybe I should go and find Tilly, at least I’d have someone to tease. She clearly doesn’t like me, although I have absolutely no idea why, which means that teasing her and entertaining myself in the proces
s is going to be ten times as easy as it would be if she were drooling all over me like ninety five percent of the rest of the female population. Now that would be complicated. Even if my body wasn’t on temporary lockdown, and in some kind of strange alternate universe I wanted her, step-sister is clearly a classic and perennial no go zone. Imagine that one in the papers. That wouldn’t just bench me for a couple of years, that might end my burgeoning model career too.

  It’s a good job she’s not my type. Of course, I can’t help it if she’s attracted to me, which would go some way to explaining her weird mood, but at least like this it’s going to be much easier to get through this period of forced abstinence.

  I’ve no idea when I’m going to get the chance again, and seeing as there’s little else to do here, I’m going to make the most of the week I get to have a little sister. She’s going to be doing absolutely everything I want, and I’m not going to give her a choice about it either. Of course, as we all know, every younger sister idolizes their big brother. They naturally want to please them in everything they do. That’s just the science of evolution.

  “What?”

  Tilly’s reappeared at the french windows, her hands on her hips, staring at me staring at her. It could be worse. With the light behind her she actually looks alright. I wonder if she knows her dress is a little see-through, and not only can I tell the color of her panties, I think I even recognize the brand.

  “Nothing”, I say. “I was just thinking about evolutionary traits.”

  Tilly flashes me a look of mistrust, and then she ignores me completely.

  “There’s a dead bird at the end of the garden.”

  “Welcome to the real world”, I say.

  Tilly looks for somewhere to sit, and disinclined to share the tiny sofa with me, she hovers for a while, pretending to be occupied by something important, before finally disappearing into our bedroom. I keep my eyes on her, because I know she’s going to come straight out of it again.

  “There’s stuff on my bed.”