New story here. It takes a while to get going, but I believe the background is important. If you're looking for a quickie, this may not be for you.
I do appreciate your time. Thanks.
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My name is Donal Liam Padraig O'Sullivan. If you read it with your best Irish lilt, or perhaps using your leprechaun impression, it rolls off the tongue easier, and accurately conveys my lineage. I'm lucky that even my parents didn't call me that tongue twisting moniker... unless I'm in trouble. Otherwise, I was just plain Danny. Yes, I'm Irish.
And no, I'm not... at least, not really. I'm Canadian, and so are my sisters, and my parents, but that didn't stop my parents from naming us all in the Celtic tradition. My grandparents are Old Country, as are my Great Grandparents, a few of whom are still alive, and one Great Great Grandmother. I suppose, when you follow the good Catholic example of spawning enough children to start a family sports team, there will be survivors, and if a muti-generational family reunion were to happen... well, we'd need a lot of chairs.
With five older sisters, twenty cousins spread across five maternal aunts and one uncle, and 18 more from my father's side, we were nearly a nation of our own. I gave up trying to figure it out beyond my great grandparents... It was giving me a headache. Let's just say the O'Sullivan genes were well spread out across the world.
It got a little more confusing around our house than mere numbers. My mother is the oldest of my grandparent's children, and she met Dad, married, and had my eldest sister just after turning eighteen. It must have spurred my grandparents into action once more, and they had one more child, a girl, about a year after. By the time I came along, about five years, two single and one pair of twin girls later, my Aunt Siobhan was at our house so much, I really thought she was my sister.
I don't remember much about my father, as he died shortly after my second birthday. Maybe the strain of trying to produce a male heir was too much, after so many girls. Whatever the reason, I grew up in a house full of women, the only testosterone in a sea of estrogen.
I absolutely loved it. Being the youngest, and only boy, I was doted on by my all my sisters, my aunt, and my Mom. There was very little sibling rivalry that I recall... at least, not directed toward me. As my sisters grew up, there was some friction within the female members of our family, but I was blissfully uninvolved.
Often, I was like a fly on the wall, completely unnoticed.
Oh, the things I saw.
I don't know if you've spent much time around that many females at once, but during the morning rush, it can be like backstage at a Las Vegas revue, with women in various stages of undress flitting all around. Towels were dropped, and naked women were everywhere.
Of course, most of the women weren't really women yet, just barely older than I was, but Mom sometimes forgot I was around. She wouldn't be competing in any swimsuit competitions anymore, but as the first adult woman I ever saw naked, her plump, rounded curves and big tits made a lasting impression. Soon, Fiona, my eldest sister, started to take on some of the same attributes, and that's when doors started getting closed around the house. My time as an honorary sister reached its end. It was nice while it lasted, even if I didn't really know what I was seeing.
I think that's about the time Vonnie and I grew closer. Yes, I'm talking about my aunt Siobhan, which is pronounced 'Shavon' for most people, despite the distinct lack of a 'V' anywhere in the name. I called her Vonnie, and as I said earlier, she spent a lot of time at our house. Only two blocks away, and closer in age to my family than her own, she was like my sixth sister, and had a different attitude than my real sisters.
Her own brother... my uncle Cillian, was seventeen years older than her. Her closest sister was twelve years older, so she was every bit as much an afterthought as I was, as low boys and girls on our respective totem poles. I suppose it's natural we should become good friends, and the five year gap between us didn't seem quite so wide.
Vonnie was going through the same changes my sisters were, but she remained my friend throughout, without the uncomfortable weirdness I was getting from Fiona, Maire, Muireanne, Shelagh, and Gael. As Fiona blossomed into a beautiful carbon copy of Mom, complete with the red hair and blue eyes, Vonnie became a similar version of her own mother, my grandmother. Her hair was a little darker, but the resemblance to both her mother and sister was obvious.
I believe that this is about when I discovered the laundry hamper. Six... or occasionally seven... women go through a lot of panties, and I noticed the aroma that all those soiled undies were producing. I was entering puberty myself, and for some reason unknown to me at the time, the smell of pussy made my cock get very stiff. I discovered that rubbing my stiff cock felt really, realllllllly goooooood, so I would do it every day. It was fun.
Mom didn't think it was so much fun, though, when she caught me one day, a pair of Fiona's panties in one hand, under my nose, and my rock hard dick in the other. Appalled, she banished me to my room, and changed the laundry procedures in the house to cut off my supply of aromatic underwear. Without the extra stimulation, masturbation lost some of its appeal, but the genie was out of the bottle, and I couldn't unlearn jerking off.
I could learn to lock the damn bathroom door properly, however.
***
I'm not really sure how Vonnie found out about my private bathroom activities. It might have been overheard gossip, or maybe she just figured I was the right age, and made the logical assumption. I mean, we may all have been named like we were still in the 19th century, but we were a thoroughly modern family, and knew what was what.
She had this way of teasing me about it... if it had been my sisters doing it, I would have been mortified, but she made it a fun tease. She called it 'playing with my boy stuff', kind of a gentle reminder that we were different, even if she was my best female friend. It always ended with a hug, just to let me know it was not meant maliciously.
The playful banter took on a new dimension one day, when she was inducing a blush by razzing me, as usual. We were alone... she was very careful not to give fuel to my sisters. It was our little game, and she didn't want it to become too emotionally painful. It was supposed to be fun, but the bomb she dropped on me made it much more than merely play.
She was doing her best, turning me bright red with questions about when I last 'played with my stuff', and she looked around, making sure we were alone.
"You know, girls do it too," she smiled. I was confused, and it must have shown, so she clarified. "You play with your stuff, and we play with ours. I play with mine all the time."
What?
We were thoroughly modern, but Mom had a modern solution to keep her children from growing up too quickly. She took parental security codes to a level I didn't know existed, so I wasn't as knowledgeable about the mechanics of sex as some of my friends. The thought that girls did... that... to themselves was new.
New, and exciting. That image was front and centre in my mind during my next opportunity to play with my stuff.
Despite Mom's best efforts, my sexual education had begun. I was twelve, and at a time when most boys were learning from each other or the Internet, I had a much more interesting source. A much softer, and more attractive source.
My friend, who was more like a sister to me, but wasn't, because she wasn't.
No. She was my mother's sister.
My aunt Siobhan.
***
Things remained status quo for a while. Vonnie was nearly eighteen, was dating other boys, and was still my best friend.
She was also still my teacher, and would drop the odd tidbit here and there. Nothing too overt, and nothing I couldn't get from the Internet, if I could find a way around Mom's password codes... but delivered as it was from a female perspective, I found it fascinating.
Her friendship had also given me more confidence around girls. Yes, she still teased me, and always held the upper hand, but coming from her I didn't mind as much. My sisters held their power as a way of putting me in my place, but Vonnie was playing when she did it. It was our private game, and she obviously enjoyed it as much as I did.
Anyway, that confidence came bubbling to the surface one day when she was at our house, just after her birthday. She was officially a woman now, but that didn't change anything between us. She popped in on me in my room, but before she could begin her normal routine, I beat her to it.
"So, how about
you
tell me when you last played with
your
stuff?" I asked, with a smile and a gallon of bravado.
"Oh ho! Look who just grew a pair!" Vonnie laughed, her blue eyes sparkling. "Okay, Mr. O'Sullivan... It was yesterday, and it was lots of fun!" she giggled, then gestured to me. It was my turn.
"This morning, and I had fun, too," I laughed back. The confidence was like a narcotic, and made me continue without thinking. "It would be better with something to sniff, um... oh, never mind."
I could feel my face glowing, and turned away.
"Danny?" she said softly, touching my shoulder. I turned back to face her. "It's alright. Nothing new under the sun. We girls do smell good, don't we?" She wrapped me in a big hug, letting me know my apparent perversion wasn't going to chase her away. She held me longer than usual, my head against her chest. It was so soft. A certain part of me was headed toward the other end of the scale, so I turned my hips, hoping she wouldn't notice. She released me, and left with a different look on her face, like she was thinking.
At the nearest opportunity, I made a bee-line for the bathroom.
***
For my thirteenth birthday, Mom got me my first cell phone. In it, she had already programmed her own cell number, and those of all my sisters, who had received their phones on their thirteenth birthday.
There was one number missing, and I asked Fiona if I could borrow her phone to get it. She just smiled, and handed it to me, letting me look up Vonnie's number myself. I gave it back, and typed the information into my device.
I was so proud. Getting my phone was a rite of passage in our house. It signified trust, and growing up. I wanted to call someone special for my first call, and there was only one person who qualified. I pressed the button.
"Hello?" I heard from the other end.
"Hi. It's me," I giggled, then clued in. Maybe she didn't recognize my voice, so I clarified. "It's Danny. I got my new phone!"
"So I see," she laughed. "That's great, honey. I'd love to talk, but I'm a little busy right now. Can I call you back?"
"Um, sure," I replied, "I guess I don't really have much to say anyway. Just wanted to try my phone, and wanted you to be my first call."
"That's so sweet, honey. I promise, I'll call you back later, okay?" she said softly.
"Okay," I nodded. "Goodbye."
Just before the line went dead, I thought I heard a voice ask "who was tha..." It wasn't a girl's voice.
About ten minutes later, my phone made a noise. I picked it up. My first text message. From Vonnie.
Sorry about that, sweetie. I'm on a date. I'll call you when I get home, and I'm definitely coming to your party this weekend. Congratulations, little man!
