Shunned Ch. 01

I had pretty clearly been an accident.

My sisters had all been born almost exactly a year apart, each in February. You could be forgiven for thinking this a mere coincidence if you didn't know my father. The man controlled every little aspect of his life down to the minutiae. He planned everything of import down to the smallest detail. My sisters and their births were part of this planning; I was not.

Five years after the youngest, Tabitha, I was born in early November to very little fanfare. I was a mistake, so I was not celebrated in the way my sisters were. My father never acknowledged his mistakes. In his view, they were to be learned from and then left behind.

This mindset also applied to me.

I have few memories of my father from my early childhood. He was a distant presence, not often home, but when he was it was best that he was avoided. He could be whimsically cruel, and seeing me had a tendency to incite that cruelty. I learned at a young age that I was to stay away from him if at all possible.

My mother was also aloof when dealing with me, though there were times that she could be a nurturing presence. When I was miserably sick with the chicken pox at age 5, she was there, soothing me with calamine lotion and kisses. When I was 7 I broke my collarbone, having fallen from the towering oak tree in our backyard. She rushed out the backdoor when she heard Caitlin shouting for her, and she held me while we waited for the ambulance. For nearly a week after, she doted on me. Until my father returned home from business, and she once again put me at arm's length.

I was closer with my sisters, especially Tabitha. While our age gap meant we had little in common, from the time I was in grade school I could remember them being fiercely protective of me. I was off limits to local bullies, who lived in fear of their retribution. Caitlin in particular, who so looked like our mother, could be wrathful in dealing with anyone who hurt someone she loved.

Which is why it was particularly painful when she, too, became distant as she grew older. The same happened with Cara not long after, and eventually even Tabitha began to treat me with a cold indifference. By the time I turned 13, the entire family acted as if I didn't exist. Conversations would cease when I entered the room. My sisters would find excuses to be elsewhere if I tried to spend time with them. I was a stranger in my own home.

I will admit, at that age I spent a great deal of time in my room sobbing my heart out over their lack of care and attention. The bullies at my school, noting the lack of intervention from my now-grown sisters, swept in on me and made my life a further hell. My grades began to plummet, and I was surly and unkind to everyone around me, even the few friends I had at school.

Thus the impetus for me to be sent to boarding school just shy of my fourteenth birthday. There, I flourished. No daily reminders of a family that did not care for me. No casual cruelty from my father. No bullies waiting for me in school bathrooms. Not that boarding school didn't have its share of bullies. I just learned swiftly how to avoid them, and within a year it was no longer an issue.

When I turned 14 I was perhaps five and a half feet tall and just over 100 lbs. By my fifteenth birthday, I had put on four more inches and half again my weight. A year later, I was just over six feet in height, and I was growing stronger with each day. By the time I graduated, I was six-foot-three and nearly 220 lbs. With few hobbies and fewer friends, I had focused intensely on fitness and self defense classes. Initially the martial arts were part of a childish fantasy about beating up my father, but eventually the discipline and serenity that came with them were my primary focus. It helped that the skills I learned made me feel powerful in a way I had never felt before.

I did not see my family after being sent to boarding school. Not once. I had infrequent letters from my sisters, mostly Tabitha, up through the end of my second year, but after that my letters home went unanswered. I remained at the school for holidays along with a handful of other children of wealthy families who could not be bothered to deal with their offspring. I was, for all intents and purposes, alone in the world.

My senior year was... eventful. At least, as far as I was concerned. Seniors on our campus were afforded far more leeway and privileges than the underclassmen. We attended dances and other events held by a nearby school for girls. We were allowed off campus and into the nearby town to go shopping (if we had funds to do so) or to see movies. We could even date, though we had a strict curfew. Not that this did me a great deal of good, as I had little spending money to speak of, merely a monthly stipend of $100 for personal needs. But it did allow me to meet girls my age and learn how to flirt.

Well, to the degree that any 17-year-old knows how to flirt. I was unsuccessful more often than not, especially as they began to learn that I did not have access to funds in the way most of my classmates did. But I was tall, and relatively handsome, I was the only boy in my class who was able to grow a beard (I cultivated that facial hair in a way that some might call obsessive), and I was strong and dangerous in my own way. Eventually these traits caught the eye of a girl from that nearby school.

Naomi was from an incredibly wealthy family, and had a confidence that can only arise from being completely comfortable for one's entire life. She was absurdly naive about some things, but she saw me and wanted me, and like most spoiled girls she got what she wanted. We began dating within a week of meeting. We had sex within the month. I was in heaven.

But spoiled girls are also fickle, and eventually Naomi grew bored of the poor rich boy and moved on. She was never unkind to me, she just simply told me we were done. I was initially upset, but one of her friends swooped in to comfort me, and after that I had a steady supply of girlfriends who wanted to be there for the handsome young man who had no one else.

I had a wall around my heart, however. I never learned how to let someone close to me. I think I instinctively believed that doing so would lead to pain; I had no experience to tell me otherwise. I was certainly friendly, and I could be charming, but that wall always remained. I broke a few hearts that year, when I could not tell one girl or another that I loved her in return.

When graduation came, I held out hope that I might finally see my family. It had been four years since I had seen them. Two since I had last heard from any of them. But I foolishly believed they must still love me and want to see my success. I was wrong. No one attended my graduation. I didn't even receive a call. When all was said and done, I was gathering up my belongings and wondering how I would get home. I gave away most of what I had acquired over the years at school. I packed up what little remained, and using my monthly stipend I bought a Greyhound ticket home.

Riding a bus for 1,500 miles is not an experience I would recommend, especially if you are larger than average. On the first leg of my trip, I spent my time cramped in a tiny seat near the front of the bus, before changing buses at a terribly-lit station in a shady part of a large, Midwestern city. I immediately took the very back seat, by the restroom. It was less crowded, and I could stretch my legs some, but the smell of the restroom made for a less than desirable trade-off. I dealt with it.

The trip took just under two days. It was miserable in a way only those who have taken such a journey can imagine. I stepped off the bus and still had over thirty miles to go to get home, and only seven dollars left to my name. So I did what I thought best: I called a cab, and hoped that my parents would not be so unkind as to not pay for it when I arrived.

The cab ride felt interminable. I began, finally, to recognize places as we passed them, and eventually we turned up the long drive to my parents' home. It was not what comes to mind when the word "mansion" is used, but it qualified in most other aspects. It was large, somewhat palatial with a sort of ranch-house quality to it. There was a detached garage to one side, where my father stored the two vintage cars he'd had painstakingly restored (though not by his own hand; he had paid a pretty penny for them). The back yard had been, at one point, like a large playground for me and my sisters. I wondered if the swingsets and the playhouse were still there.

I told the cabby someone would be out shortly to pay him, and tip him well, and I grabbed my suitcase and made my way up to the front door. Initially I thought to ring the doorbell, but this was my home as well, was it not? I pressed the door latch and it was open, so I let myself inside. I could hear nothing in the house, but it was a large place and someone was likely home somewhere. I looked back at the cabby, held up a finger, and then closed the front door behind me and set my luggage against the wall.

I walked into the reception area, and everything looked precisely as I remembered it. I let out a sigh of relief; I had half expected that my parents had sold the place and I was walking into a stranger's home. I glanced around to see if anything had changed, but only some minor details were different. I listened intently, but could hear no one in the house.

I wandered through the ground floor rooms until I found myself outside my father's study. It was a place I had not been allowed for most of my childhood. But I was a grown man now, and despite the fear that gripped my belly, I opened the door and let myself inside.

He wasn't there, which didn't surprise me. My father had been rarely home when I was a child. I took in the space, looked over the books on the shelf behind his desk, realizing that most of them had never once been opened. I smiled at the pretentiousness of it, when something caught my eye. A small stand with a half dozen bottles of various high-end liquors. I picked up one bottle and looked it over, opened it, and gave it a whiff. I shrugged and poured myself a few fingers into a small glass, then wandered back out into the main area and headed for the stairs.

It was near the top of the stairs that I began to hear it. Breathy sounds, whimpering cries, and the occasional voice giving word to something I couldn't quite make out. I walked down the hall toward the sound, until I could make out the voices and what was happening. I wasn't entirely certain until I heard the words "Fuck me harder!" as clear as a bell.

My heart pounded as I approached the door to the master bedroom. It was open, and the smell of sex wafted out from it. It was dim inside, and my eyes slowly adjusted to the scene before me. Four women and one man, in various positions, having what appeared to be very vigorous and passionate sex. Two of the women were in a 69, eating each other out. It was the first time I had ever seen any kind of lesbianism in person. Another woman was on her knees between the legs of a man, and was sucking him off while the last woman was fucking her from behind with what I was certain was a strap-on.

None of them had noticed me. I watched in a sort of daze for a moment, when the woman with the strap-on said the words "Suck my Daddy's cock, Mama." I finally realized what, and who, I was looking at.

It was my father's dick that my mother was sucking so vigorously, though that wouldn't have shocked me so much if she wasn't also being fucked by my sister, Cara. The other two women were, upon further inspection, Tabitha and Caitlin. My family was having an incestuous orgy. Immediately so much became clear.

I leaned against the door frame and began to chuckle.

My father's head snapped up, and it took the others a moment to realize what was happening as he pushed my mother away.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?!" he shouted, sliding off the bed and stalking toward me. It was meant to be menacing, but I was taller than him by a good three inches and he was nude. His cock was still rock-hard, and it bobbed with each step. I had to stop myself from laughing outright, so I smiled and took a sip of the whiskey.

"Viagra, huh?" I gestured with the glass at his dick, and it stopped him, confused.

"What? What do you want?" I saw something I hadn't seen before in my father's eyes: uncertainty. He was naked, and vulnerable, and a stranger was standing in his doorway drinking his whiskey.

"Your dick is still waving like it was when Mom was sucking on it, despite me standing here and interrupting. I'm guessing Viagra, but I admit it could be just about any erectile dysfunction supplement." I forced a smile and sipped as realization dawned on his face.

"Victor?"

I nodded.

"The cab out front needs to be paid. I'm sure he's getting tired of waiting, so you should hurry." I straightened up, took another sip of whiskey, and turned away to walk back down the hall. I headed for my room, my mind racing. I was putting together puzzle pieces, and so much of what I had experienced began to make sense. I shook my head at it all, and pushed open the door to my bedroom.

Except that it was no longer my bedroom. It had been converted to a studio of some kind, with cameras scattered around a white backdrop and lighting equipment. I gave out a mildly surprised grunt, then stepped back out and made my way back down the stairs. I let myself out the back door into the yard, walked over to a bench near the fire pit, and sat down.

My family had essentially erased me from their lives. They had no idea I was coming home. No idea that my graduation had happened. They didn't care. They had tossed out anything that reminded them that I existed, and had gone on with their lives. And they were fucking each other! That-- That part I couldn't quite wrap my head around.

But in retrospect, it just... It all made so much sense. My thoughts were clamoring, and I knew why I had been so casually thrown aside. I didn't fit the plan. My father had wanted a harem of women to service him, and I had been a fly in the ointment. They had almost certainly been engaging in this behavior before I left for boarding school. Hell, boarding school was likely intended to help keep their activities secret; my falling grades had just been an excuse.

I took another drink and let my eyes wander. The yard hadn't changed, either, though one of the swingsets was missing, as was my sisters' playhouse. The lawn there was bare, and well-manicured. Across from it stood the last remnant of my childhood: the second swingset, the one that my mother had installed when my sisters had grown too big for the first. It looked like it was still maintained. I wouldn't have been surprised to learn my sisters still used it.

I raised my hand for a sip and realized I was shaking. I set the glass down next to me. The enormity of everything was finally catching up. I wondered what I would do now. Where I would go. I had no money. No higher education. No one willing to support me, or help me. No support structure at all. Hell, I didn't even have a phone. I felt more alone in that moment than ever before.

The back door opened, and my mother stepped out, wrapped in a thick cotton robe. Her hair had been pulled back when she was sucking my father's cock moments ago, and it remained clipped at the back of her neck, though some of her ginger curls still spilled out from it. Even at 44, she was a stunningly beautiful woman. I just couldn't get the mental image of her blowing her husband while getting railed by her daughter out of my head.

I took all this in with a glance but then forced myself not to look at her. I felt a keen embarrassment; even if what she had been doing was wrong, she was still my mother and I saw her engaged in the one activity you shouldn't see your mother engaged in. I picked up the glass and took another sip as she sat down on the bench near me.

She was looking out over the yard as well, and I could tell from her mannerisms that she was also nervous. Finally she turned to look at me, but I couldn't bear to meet her gaze. I just sat, staring out into nothing.

"The beard suits you," she said.

I shrugged, picked up the glass, and took the final swallow. Unlike the earlier sipping, this burned on the way down. It felt good as it hit my gut, like a warm coal. I imagined it was my anger at my family, and I felt like fanning it so that it would grow hotter. I set the glass aside and waited.

"Why are you here, Victor?"

There it was. The final proof. She had no idea what was going on with me. She genuinely didn't know why I was here. She didn't want me here. I felt tears burning at my eyes, and the coal grew hotter.

"I graduated. Thursday." I could barely choke out the words.

"Oh," she said simply. She looked away again.

We were both quiet then. I grew steadily more nervous as the silence lengthened, until finally she spoke again.

"Congratulations."

I held up a hand and shook my head. "Fucking don't."

"I'm sorry, Victor. I don't know what you want me to say." Her eyes were sad when she looked at me this time. I flinched.

"There's nothing left to be said, Mom. I finally understand... Everything." I sighed.

"You really don't." She looked down at her hands. I thought on it for a moment, and shrugged.

"Maybe not. But I honestly don't fucking care anymore. The only reason I'm even sitting here is because I don't know where else to go." I frowned. "I have nowhere else to go but this fucking place which I thought was Home but was really just-- Just Hell."

I stood up then and glanced at her. She had tears streaming down her face. Fuck that, too late for that.

"I'll be in what used to be my room, until you and that shitty excuse for a father can decide what to do with me."

She reached for me as I stepped past her, but I pulled my hand away and went inside. The house was quiet as I fled to my former bedroom. When I stepped inside the converted studio, I pulled the door closed behind me. It did not give me the sense of security that it used to. This was no longer my safe space. I no longer had a safe space.

I walked to the center of the room, where a kind of dais was raised, the backdrop sitting behind it. There were sheets of satin, over the back of a chair, and then the photos on the wall caught my eye. My sisters, in various stages of undress, or in lingerie and in various positions. The pictures had all clearly been taken in this room. I wondered what the point of them was. Their presence made me feel even more unwelcome, so I turned away, picked up the satin sheets and tossed them aside, and sat down.

I rubbed my hands across my face and over my eyes, smoothed down my beard and waited. My mind was somehow both racing and entirely blank. I couldn't hold on to any single thought for more than a moment. I wasn't sure I wanted to. Every time my mind would settle upon one thought or another, it would sting like poison and I would flinch away. I leaned forward and buried my face in my hands. It was all I could do not to weep.

There was a soft knock at the door. I didn't respond, but it opened nonetheless, and a woman stepped inside. Her hair was honey blonde, wavy and hanging down to her shoulders. She was dressed in jeans and a white shirt. My eyes met hers, a brilliant green, and I recognized her immediately.

"Tabitha."

"Hi, Vic."

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to see you. Say hello. Maybe get a hug?"

I frowned and shook my head. I held up a hand before she could step closer. "No, I don't think--" I choked. "I don't want you touching me."

"I'm sorry, baby brother."

"NO." I stood up, and I towered over her. She took a small step back. "You don't get to fucking call me that, and you know damned well why."