Life is weird. I always believed that after exiting those "awkward" teenage years, and emerging- in the eyes of the world- as an adult, things would become much more clear. That hasn't happened. My name is Karen, my friends call me Kari. I have never quite fit-in. And now things have spiraled out of my control. Or as much control as I ever thought that I had.
I went through many stages of post-pubescent angst and marked each occasion with some startling and ultimately, unsatisfying alteration of my body. Hoping that one of them, plus the experience and advantages of every year would add the appropriate wisdom that would carry me through life. I celebrated my twenty-first anniversary on this planet by sucking my brother's cock. There goes that theory!
I'm half-way to twenty-two and my life has been much better- atleast my sex life! Once again, I just crawled out of my brother Ricky's bed; wiping remnants of his sticky cum from my lips, after the morning's routine of blowjob, mauling of my tits, missionary fucking followed by doggy-style and then "putting a shine" on his cock as he likes to say, and then padding-off to the kitchen to start the coffee and prepare breakfast. This phase of my stunted growth cycle has lasted longer than most but it has been the most enjoyable. I am a sex-slave to my older brother but, atleast I have some mind-blowing orgasms and I know that someone enjoys my body and I understand the voluntary role that I've adopted in our sexual dynamic. This was certainly, not always the case.
In my younger days, my body-image was terrible. I was a bright girl but never really popular. In an era when tall and thin were in, I was short and heavy. Entering high school, I was involved in Gothic clothing with dark nails and make-up and I accentuated my shocking appearance by practically shaving my head and later, adding some stupid tattoos. Fortunately, the body-art was non-offensive and because I still feared the wrath of my parents, it was on parts of my body that few people were interested in.
As a junior, I was noticed by the school's softball coach as a competent, powerful player in our gym classes. Soon, I was accepted on the varsity team but then further shunned by any boys, as being too butch or more probably- a lesbian. My hair had grown-out by then, to mid-body length and resumed it's auburn shade of brunette. There had been a late growth-spurt that stretched my anatomy to about 5'9" and relocated the more feminine curves. I was still "husky" but through constant training and sweating-off the excess, I tipped the scales at 145 and a 34B. I plainly felt more comfortable in cleats and batting gloves than in heels and lace. But that led to more suggestions that I must be gay.
In the locker room after games there were some girls who were more open about sexuality and this led to some scintillating and erotic intimations. In my senior season at age eighteen, I had my first intimate experience. At a party celebrating our advancement to the playoffs, I had my first real taste of hard liquor. And then the hard licking began. I was isolated with two other girls in a back bedroom and a bottle of very cold vodka. We played-out a "game" that involved sipping from the big red cups and answering pointed questions about sex. I had no expertise with either the eighty-proof warm-up or the eight-hundred-degree heatwave in my uterus.
Naturally, I had teased my own pussy with my fingers many times; imagining some of the well-built, studly boys, flexing and preening in my classes and also, some of the hauntingly beautiful and entirely-naked young women that I had seen in the showers. The image of a stretching, purring kitten that was stenciled on my upper thigh always reminded me of the "sacred" cherry that was kept hidden behind the wiry crop of reddish-brown curls that guarded my fiery orifice. Two or three fingers routinely plunged in and out of my virginal furnace every night as I enumerated the endless list of people to whom I would gladly offer my bothersome virtue.
I was so naive and desperate to fit-in, that I was easy prey for more "sophisticated" pillagers. In that darkened bedroom, the intoxicating effects of the alcohol and close quarters of a soft, warm bed, loosened whatever inhibitions that had secured my modesty to that point. I was not so stupid to misunderstand what was happening, but my head was swimming from more than the warming hooch. My high-school mind told me that no boys would ever be interested in me and that maybe I was kidding myself, and my true affections were toward women. It wasn't long before my small tits were released from their confining bra and that my twin teammates were reclining against the headboard, smothering my perky nipples in slobbery kisses and squeezing the softball-sized globes in their greedy paws.
I was anxious to relieve this built-up tension that was roiling the fluids in my pussy and I returned their fierce kisses on each face. Nearly trembling with erotic passion, and obviously overcome by stimulation (manmade and physical,) I was entirely open to sensual influence. The initial and exploratory step, was for the plainly more practiced girls to order me to remove my clothes. The barriers that had kept me chaste were being dismantled from outside and within. I would shake and sweat if being told to strip by a man. But the room was dark, the girls were friends and I had taken showers (though completely non-sexual,) with them before. Plus, I needed to know. I was bare-footed already with nothing left to lose but my tight jeans and baby-blue panties.
