INTRODUCTION & DISCLAIMER - In Spring 1985, handsome 19-year-old Italian-American Vinnie stays for the weekend with his best friend Paul, who lives at home with his parents and younger sister Tara, a high school senior aged 18.
It would seem that Vinnie, known for his eye for the ladies, will behave himself when left alone with Tara, as although pretty she is confined to a wheelchair. But nobody knows about Tara's secret crush on her big brother's best friend and the hormones racing through her young mind that cause her to have no end of kinky thoughts.
Will Tara's virginity remain intact or will Vinnie deflower her when their desires get too much?
Only characters aged 18 & older are naked or in sexual situations. As mentioned in the introduction, the narrator Tara is disabled and uses a wheelchair so if this isn't your thing please consider whether this story is for you. Otherwise, please enjoy 'My Brother's Friend Deflowered Me' and rate and comment.
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They say you never miss what you've never had, and in my case it was the ability to walk. Less than three months after I arrived into the world in January 1967, my parents received the terrible news that their baby daughter had a tumor very close to her spine that needed to be removed otherwise her life would be tragically short. The tumor was duly removed, but my spinal cord suffered unavoidable damage in the process. I was of course too young to remember any of this, so all I had ever known was life in a wheelchair.
As I grew up, I had lots of different emotions about my situation, but self-pity was never one of them. Getting to understand more about my condition, I realized how lucky I was compared to other disabled people. Sure I was a paraplegic, but I was in much better shape than many other paraplegics. While I could not really feel my legs, I did have some feeling in my feet and full feelings in my reproductive and digestive systems. This was important, as I had control over my bodily functions and as I grew up my menstrual cycle. I didn't need to rely on anyone help me to wash, go to the toilet or manage my periods, which was of great relief to me as the alternative would have been highly embarrassing.
Never having known how to walk, I felt empathy for other disabled people who had once been able to walk but now couldn't due to injury or illness. That would have been totally demoralizing. And apart from an inability to walk, I could do everything else and had no other health problems. My disability motivated me to do well at school, help with chores at home where I could, play a sport (mine was wheelchair basketball) and do volunteer work through our church for those less fortunate. I had great friends at the Long Island Catholic high school I attended, and a great relationship with my parents Jim and Anna and my brother Paul, older than me by a year.
My parents were great, always teaching me to be independent, but never to be rude to those who instinctively tried to help me when I didn't need it. They treated me like their daughter, not their disabled daughter. Paul and I were always close siblings and the best of friends growing up. As kids he would love to push his kid sister around in her chair, me encouraging him to race faster until our parents told us to slow down in case I lost my balance and fell out but it never happened. Paul was always very protective of me, but that was understandable in the circumstances.
Sometimes I felt guilty growing up that while as independent as possible I was still a special needs kid, and my parents often had to pay more attention to me than my brother. But if it ever bothered Paul he never said so, never once did I ever hear him say, "Tara gets all the attention." Still, I did feel bad when things had to happen or not happen due to me. For example, we could only live in a single story house as stairs were not something I got along with. While petite like my mother, just five feet two inches tall with a slim build, it was relatively easy for my tall, strong father or brother to carry me if required, but I think one or both of them would have ended up with hernias if they had had to carry me up and down the stairs several times each day. The modifications to the house to help me with my mobility issues all cost money, as did the modification to the car to allow my chair to go on the roof. My medical bills cost money. Sometimes, we couldn't go on a specific vacation such as camping or do family activities as I wasn't up to it. I probably shouldn't have felt bad given I didn't choose to be in a wheelchair, but nonetheless I did. Maybe it was just the Catholic guilt thing?
In early 1985 I turned 18, was a senior in high school, studying hard and getting good grades, continuing to play wheelchair basketball, working a part time job doing paperwork at a hardware store owned by Mom's brother and was taking lessons to drive a modified car, something that would give me more independence in the future.
Paul was a freshman in college. The college was in Long Island so Paul could live at home and commute to classes every day. I was very glad as I loved his company, and would have missed him if he went away to school. The same applied to his girlfriend Michelle, a pretty redhead who was like a sister to me, although with Paul being my brother that was kind of weird. However, my favorite friend of my brother's was his best friend since childhood, in the tall, dark and handsome form of Vinnie Antonio.
Vinnie was from a large, Italian-American family, the third of six brothers and sisters. They lived not too far from us, and attended the same Catholic high school. I'd always liked Vinnie, he was funny and charming and treated me like an equal. Plus he was so good-looking and charming. I'm not sure if my parents liked Vinnie and the rest of the Antonio family so much. They were originally from Brooklyn and had the strong accents of this borough to match, plus loud voices no doubt from so many people living in the same house struggling to make themselves heard. Vinnie attended college like my brother and like Paul lived at home, as it would have been dumb to pay accommodation fees to live at a college only a short drive away.
Soon after turning 18 in the winter something had happened that I never thought would. While I had always liked Vinnie as a friend and thought he was handsome - what girl wouldn't, Vinnie was tall, with a fit muscular build to die for and his swarthy, smoldering Italian looks that could have won him a career in acting or as a male model - I had never had romantic feelings towards him.
But one cold afternoon in February, Vinnie passed by me in the hallway on his way out to his car after studying with Paul he had said to me, "I'll catch you tomorrow, Tara." This simple statement set off some reaction in my body and my heart aflutter. I wheeled myself to the living room windows and watched through the curtains as Vinnie got into his car and drove away into the snowy evening I felt that romantic feeling go through me and from that point there was no turning back - I had a crush on my brother's best friend.
I thought this might be a passing thing, like having a crush on an actor or a pop-star, which had happened in the past but because Vinnie was around a lot, my feelings just got stronger. Paul and Vinnie liked to lift weights together in the garage, and I would often join them. I couldn't of course lift weights like they could but could do a weight program to help me with my upper-body strength and toning, and would admire Vinnies fit masculine body as he pumped iron. When Vinnie picked up a towel and wiped the sweat away from his handsome face and his dark hair, I felt wet in another place, namely on the saddle of my panties.
I never mentioned my crush on Vinnie to anyone else, and I don't think anyone caught on about my feelings for him. Lots of girls liked Vinnie and he dated plenty of them, but with me there were a few assumptions that prevented anybody suspecting my crush.
Firstly, as I had been around Vinnie most of my life it would seem that if I was to get feelings on him it would have happened already, and secondly people seemed to think that due to my paraplegia, I was asexual and not interested in dating and sex. While I was indeed not dating anyone and a virgin - the only male to ever see down there in great detail my gynecologist - it didn't mean that I had no interest in sex, far from it. Sometimes in bed at night my fingers found their way into my panties, through my pubic hair and into my pussy, my resulting orgasms one of the reasons why I was so grateful to have feeling between my legs.
This had happened more frequently in recent months as my feelings for Vinnie got stronger. Some specific things helped this process along. Vinnie would sometimes come along with Paul and my parents to see my basketball games, and one time after I made a difficult shot Vinnie got a bit over-excited, leaped out of his seat yelling, "Yes, yes, yes, go Tara!", cheering loudly and whistling. I think my parents were a bit embarrassed but on the court the dampness in my panties was not only caused by sweat but a certain other substance.
I most certainly wasn't feeling sexy two weeks later when I had the flu and was off school sick and feeling sorry for myself. Vinnie had said, "I'll make you my Nona's famous cold remedy, you'll feel better real soon." He then vanished into the kitchen and returned five minutes later with a hot drink that contained honey and lemon and I suspect something from my parents' liquor cabinet, but I sure as hell wasn't complaining. In bed that night as I tried to sleep through my cold symptoms I felt those wonderful feelings of having a crush sweeping all over my body, and thought about how nice Vinnie had been to me and wishing I was more to him than his friend's younger sister.
The fantasy of Vinnie and I being more than friends I thought would stay just that - after all one look at me and my limitations as a girlfriend were obvious - until a couple of seemingly unrelated events occurred at the same time in spring 1985 that set off a perfect storm and things were never the same again.
First, I had my period in the week before spring break and secondly, the Antonio family needed to have termite treatments on their house that required them to move out over four days of the weekend while the work was done. With such a large family, they were going all over the place to friends and relatives and to my delight Vinnie was coming to stay with us for four days, sleeping in our spare bedroom. Actually, delight was understating it, I was more like a star-struck groupie whose favorite male recording artist was staying for a long weekend, but I was good at hiding my emotions.
How my period was relevant to all of this would appear confusing at face value. I was one of those girls who got her period every 28 days without fail, and it always went the same. Three days before it started I would get all cranky and emotional like many girls, very hormonal and precious, and would snap at people who annoyed me or break down in tears if looked at the wrong way. Men of course annoyed me far more than women when I was like this. Then there was the main event, my period itself, and it always lasted six days. The first three days I was always crampy and bloated, my menstrual flow heavy and my period wreaking havoc with my digestive system too. Days four and five things started to settle down a bit, my flow was lighter and my menstrual cramps were gone. But it was the sixth day of my period when things got really interesting.
