Pandora’s Sisters

Photo by Jon Wilson

I didn’t really want to go there. Maybe because of the social consequences. Maybe because she was young. Though it wasn’t as if she wasn’t experienced.

I was sitting in the smoking court of the Fluid Ounce with a 16 year old girl, Grace – the little sister of my workmate Pandora.

I found it strangely ironic because I knew that what Pandora was doing, buying alcohol for Grace, was illegal – probably with fines of $5000 or more. But I could take her home and turn her out, and that would be perfectly legal. As for the morals, well, we all make our own choices.

“So, how was Canada?” I inquired.

“Canada is fantastic.

“I heard about the student exchange one day, came home and said hey mum I’m going to Canada. They said ‘oh what a great learning experience – you can learn French!’

“There was this woman in my karate class. She was old, like 35 or something. She invited me over for lunch. What could I do? Food is my only weakness. So I went to her place on a Sunday while her family were out – ”

“Wait – family? She was married?”

“Family. Husband, kids, the whole shabang.”

“So a married woman from your karate class seduced you? You are such a player!”

“What can I say.” She looked coy.

“How old were the kids?”

“Not sure, maybe fourteen, fifteen.”

“So pretty much your age.”

“I’m sixteen,” she corrected me.

“My mistake.”

“Anyway, a couple of weeks later I’m in the school cafeteria. This old dude came in and started screaming ‘Homewrecker! Homewrecker!’ and he was screaming at me. He confronted me, said I was a harlot and accused me of having sex with his wife.”

“Well, you did have sex with his wife.”

“That’s right – but I said to him it was only one time. He screamed at me ‘TWO TIMES. IT was TWO TIMES!’”

“So Canada was a learning experience for you then.”

“Sure, and I learnt a lot about French.”

Grace was openly flirting with me. I shot some pool, doubles with her and her sister. Whenever I made a shot Grace would jump up on and hug me, her legs in a full wrap.

“Keep your hands off my sister!” Pandora would say.

“So do you have a thing for my sister?” Grace asked me in the smoking court.

“I think it’s best not to get too involved with your workmates.”

“Yeah I totally know what you’re saying.”

The conversation continued. “Oh my God that’s so cool you totally should!” “OMG really? Teach me some Spanish!” “Oh my God!” she said. “What was that like!?”

She seemed to be impressed by everything I was saying. I kept trying to build to something genuinely impressive so she could have a chance to not fake it, so I would cease the awkward feeling that I was talking to a complete bimbo.

Of course, she wasn’t a bimbo, but this is how some young girls flirt.

The next day at work, Pandora said to me: “My sister thought you were hot.”

I said: “I know.”

Another time, talking to Pandora, she rapid-fired a story at me, delivering a rising tone at the end of every clause. “I lived with my older sister for a while. She was a drug dealer. Sometimes she’d have gentleman callers, and she’d give me these complex instructions about all her customers. I’d say okay – but I never had to tell anyone anything – she’d always be finished. And the guy would take the drugs, leave the money and she’d be lying there with the door open with her legs in the air.”

“Wait… what? Why did she have her legs in the air?”

“Because she wanted to get pregnant. She had lots of guys that came over and came inside her, and she’d put her legs up in the air because she thought it would funnel the sperm and she’d get pregnant. It didn’t help though.”

“Couldn’t hurt.” Might hurt the baby.

“She never got pregnant anyway.”

“Weren’t the guys worried that she actually would get pregnant and they’d have a little crack baby running around?”

“She wasn’t on crack, she just sold weed. Apparently they weren’t worried at all. Though what they really should have been worried about, was STDs.”

“Yeah… that’s a nice story.”

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