Member-only story
My Sister the Dominatrix
Some things don’t run in the family.
It was May, the month I dreaded because it meant the arrival of my yearly brunch date with my sister Nina.
I arrived a little late, stopping at a nearby mirror in the waiting area to flatten a few of my wild curls. When I was satisfied — or as satisfied as I could be without an emergency bottle of hairspray on hand — I looked past the hostess and saw Nina was already waiting for me at a table for two.
I rushed forward and thrust out my hand holding a small bouquet of flowers. “For your birthday,” I said when Nina looked at me with confusion. “I’m sorry I didn’t send a card or give you a call. Work’s been a nightmare.”
She took the flowers and brought them to her nose. “Thanks,” she said, her voice soft. Then she looked back up at me. “I didn’t bring you anything. Wasn’t your birthday in March?”
“February,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed that she didn’t remember. With our age difference — five years — we’d never been particularly close, even when we lived together at home with our parents. But Nina had stormed out at age nineteen to go find herself — or whatever she had managed to do in Los Angeles while she lived there.
She had become the family pariah because she made no secret of her inclinations…
