The adversity of puberty and over active testosterone level, the search for my own identity, this was my struggle with my own 'modern' morality, my own created theory of what is good and what is bad. 'When we are happy, we are always good, when we are good, we are not always happy. To be good is to be in harmony with one's self; forced harmony with others, results in discord. The result is that pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory about'.
I cannot claim this theory as my own. A more educated person than I wrote this. He also claimed it belonged to Nature. 'Pleasure is Natures test', he wrote, 'her sign of approval'.
Living in a house with my two sisters and the adjustment to invite a new stepfather into my own private sanctum, was somewhat problematic. His futile attempt to act like a father was more a performance to satisfy my mothers' hopes of having a real 'Brady Bunch' type of family environment; it grew to be slightly pathetic. I transformed into a mutineer as the months went by, making live unbearable for the whole household. Revolting against any authority has caused our already fragile father-son relationship a serious setback. It has put a lot of stress on my college work and sadly, on his relationship with my mother.
I felt it to be an invasion of my so-called manhood, my kingdom. My increased teenage obsession with sex exacerbated the situation as my own stubborn pride prevented me to approach him on the subject. In some good way, it forced me to hunt for the printed word, which I read with fascination, especially literature produced by the likes of 'Masters and Johnson'. I started experimenting with masturbation at the age of 16, reading the odd girlie magazine, which I managed to get from my friends in the neighbourhood. Still, this did not satisfy my quest for more knowledge and of course practise of this mysterious subject matter, my own secrets which I indulged in the safety of my own created fantasy world, silently thirsting for more.
It was in the beginning of summer when my mother, sapped from the tension, approached me with an alternative and asked if I would like to live with my Grandma, whom was looking after my two cousins at the time. A responsibility she took on after their father disappeared many years ago following their mother's death. The thought of no stepfather whom will invade my territory, a place where I can find my own identity, seemed very appealing.
Justine at 19 was the oldest and in her final year of college studying Computer Science, coincidently the same as I was, which meant we would attend the same classes. She was a quiet, soft-spoken girl, often ridiculed for her shyness. At college she was playfully taunted as a 'Mrs. Goody-two-shoes', but was secretly admired by her friends and teachers for her moral fibre. I used to refer to her as 'Mother Theresa' and was sure she would become a nun one day. It would seem a great pity, as she excelled in sports and academically she was top of her class. Her body was lean and wispy with her long legs exaggerated by their thinness. Her waist long, fiery red hair and green eyes, gave her that elegant aristocratic look. She was the envy of just about all the girls in college and the desire of many a prick-carrier.
Tanya on the other hand, a year younger than us, was more of a rebel and always up to a challenge. Her short ash blonde hair just touching her shoulders complemented her petite little body. Her hazel eyes and the faint freckles on her nose, gave her that wilful, challenging look.
We got on a quite well. Tanya was more audacious, short skirts, tight jeans around her sexy little arse, mostly wearing no brassiere under her tight blouses. She had the normal teenage fascination towards dancing, singing and modelling. There was no end to the supply of entertainment she used to provide us by mimicking her favourites, her hips gyrating in mock seductiveness. Obviously in the absence of our conservative Grandma, for she had a real Victorian attitude to anything relating to the sinful pleasures of the flesh. She would definitely condemn Tanya to lifelong enrolment in a convent if she ever found out.
Whenever we visited, I always tried to position myself in such a way where I can sneak a peak up either of my two cousins' milky-white thighs, trying to get a glimpse at their panty-covered crotches. An act, automated as if drawn to it by a magnet. They never caught on due to their innocents; both of them were blossoming into sexy little crumpets. I suppose, deep down they had their own struggle with their identities of becoming women, noticing the changes in their bodies, confused about these new desires welling up inside of them.
Unfortunately, for them, the mention of sex towards our grandma was a taboo subject, with one exception; they had been using oral contraceptives with her approval, a practise frowned upon by the rest of the family.
My two cousins were quite thrilled to have a change, a man about the house. We developed a special bond between us, especially with Tanya because of the unruly mischief we used to get up-to. We would often just cuddle up on the coach while watching a scary movie. While she is in full concentration, I would secretly fantasize about her body, feeling the shameless desire burning between my legs. Her arms holding on to me, squashing her pert breasts against my chest, her innocent touch of my thigh when she awaits a tense moment in a scene. I would respond by holding her tighter, furtively slide my hand down her back to feel her rounded arse through her satin pyjamas.
Several times we would wrestle, playing, 'Who's the King', mostly initiated by me when she is in her short regulation college dress. With our arms tightly around each other, my hand 'misguidedly' brushing against her breasts, our legs entwined in battle, letting my upper thigh ground between her legs, sometimes wondering if she feels the same excitement as I do. At times, I thought I could feel a hint of wetness transpiring from the heat, not sure and with no confirmed revelation from her. This would make me end it quickly to go and jerk off to relieve the boiling frustration of desire, also, making a mental note to get hold of those panties to confirm my suspicion.
It was on this one day after college that we were alone at home. Justine was still at college playing tennis. Tanya was standing in the kitchen in her short college dress and bare feet, busy making something to eat.
Sneaking up behind her, I said, "Tanya, are you going to make your 'old cousin' something to eat as well?"
"No," she answered in her usual defiance.
"Please," I said, "I will do anything."
"Really," she said mockingly, "What precisely?"
As I circled my arms around her waist, I replied, "Well, we let the forces of nature decide by playing, 'Who is the King' and if I win, you will do my chores for two days. If you win I will do yours."
"No, you always win and I will only feel…never mind," she sighed.
"Well, you have no choice," I said as I picked her up and carried her to the settee.
"Put me down, put me down!" she hissed through mocked anger.
"No, not until you give in or until I am satisfied that I am truly your King," I said deviously.
"Okay, you are the King, really, you are," she said through fits of laughter.
"I don't believe you. I am going to have to devour you to satisfy my hunger." I said as I pinned her arms above her head and leaning forward, "The menu indicates that I start at your neck first as an appetizer, then your sides."
She shrieked helplessly as I force my face between her head and shoulder. I opened my mouth wide and took a slight bite. I hear a sigh as she pushes her hips up against me. As I continue to take smaller bites down the nape of her neck, I suddenly sensed her resistance waning slightly, her hysterical laughter, replaced by her quickening breath. Is it my imagination or what? She almost willingly offers her neck to me. I can feel my mouth going dry and an increased stirring in my shorts as my dick starts to swell inside my grey knitted shorts.
I pulled away and looked down at Tanya. Her cheeks flushed red and a hint of perspiration filtered across her forehead. Her now glazed eyes are half shut, her tongue caress her own parted dry lips caused by her rapid breathing. Her eyes opened more, a daring glint shot straight at me as if saying, "Come on, you started it, how far would you go?" A shy smile swept across her face. I looked down at the swell of her breasts. Two tiny little pink peaks, straining against her white college blouse.
"Hey, you little tart," I said, "You are not wearing a bra; don't tell me you went to college like that?"
