Truth is often more implausible than fiction. The logic of a written story doesn't always apply to actual events. Especially when the characters involved are real life, horny teenagers, acting on sexual impulse rather than good sense, and ruled by desire, not rational thought.
The following events took place in the summer of 1982. My sister and I were both between our junior and senior years of high school. She was eighteen years old, but I was nineteen. We were just over fourteen months apart.
Our parents had married young and chose to have both of us as quickly as possible. They had held me back a year before I was supposed to enter kindergarten, so that sis and I could attend together, and we were frequently mistaken for twins. Partly because we were in the same grade throughout pre-, elementary and high schools, but also because we had similar coloration and builds: pale skin, auburn hair, and tall and slender figures with pointed features. My sister wore it all better than I did, and looked like the ethereal angel that she was. I was just a washed-out, skinny wimp.
I know it's fashionable in a story like this for the "hero" to be a strapping, bronzed adonis, a perfect physical specimen, quarterback of the football team, anchor of the swim team, attacker on the lacrosse team, blah, blah, blah -but the reality is, I wasn't any of those things. If I had been, it all would have happened much differently I'm sure. And you, dear readers, would be missing out on a sordid tale of post-adolescent lechery, lasciviousness and, as the category heading dictates, incest.
Before I begin my story in earnest, I need to mention something that could prove to be rather confusing. Of the five main characters in this narrative -myself, my sister and her trio of best friends- three of us have the same name. Now if this were a work of fiction and not reality, you would be correct in criticizing me, the author, for being a complete fucking idiot for giving three of the characters in the same story the same name. But since I am chronicler and not creator, I ask that you be tolerant of this complication, and bear with me, as I seek to clarify it. And no, I do not share a name with any of the female characters. I am not the proverbial "boy named Sue."
I will try to explain this as simply as possible, my sister is named Deborah. Her first best friend, known as Deb, is named Deborah, her third best friend, known as Debbie, is named Deborah. Her second best friend, to everyone's relief, is named Jessica. To recap, my sister is Deborah. Her friends, in order of importance to her are Deb, Jessica and Debbie. As we did in real life, so will I in this account, to avoid confusion, only ever refer to my sister as Deborah, only ever refer to her first best friend as Deb and only ever refer to her third best friend as Debbie, except, on occasion, as we did in real life, refer to her as Little Debbie, which she was in stature, but not in breast size. (And yes, I'm getting to the sex eventually. You may want to do something else with your hands for the time being, so you don't wear your "parts" down before you need them.)
Deborah, Deb, Jessica and Debbie all went to the "all girls" Catholic high school across the creek from the "all boys" Catholic high school that I attended, and we were all in the same grade, and the same age, 18-19 years old. But don't worry, you'll discover, as you continue to read, that we were Catholic in name only, at least as far as our sexuality was concerned. Yes, we all went to church on Sundays, and did good deeds like sending money to the missions, and visiting old folks homes to sing Kumbaya with the residents, but we were all, or more precisely we all became, sexual deviants over the course of that fateful summer. And this is not heavy-handed irony on my part as the writer, it's just the plain truth. Our upbringing didn't save us from moral corruption, and probably contributed to it.
And now the story begins.
It is 9pm on a warm July night, and the southeast Michigan sun has not yet completely set in the west. Its dull orange rays still seeped over the horizon. My face lies deep in tan shag carpet. My left ear is pressed against the base of my bedroom door, where a slight crack exists between it and the shag. A short distance across the hallway is a similarly set door, with a similarly sized crack at its bottom. That door leads to my sister's room, where she and her aforementioned three besties are celebrating her 18th birthday. Sporadic waves of giggling are all I can make out. The words leading to them are unintelligible.
In my mind's eye I see the four of them in their summer sleeping skivvies. I imagine tight shorts and t-shirts, or flimsy tank tops and frilly panties. I can only fantasize at this point, but in ten long minutes, when the sun finally sets and darkness prevails, I will be able to actually see! (Be patient dear readers. All will be explained.) In my mind's eye the image of the scantily-clad slumberettes, and their four, feminine, frames, makes my wan wiener rock hard, and it pokes out of the fly of my loose fitting boxers, much redder than my actual skin color. It buries itself in the tan shag carpet several inches deeper even than my forehead.
The clock ticks tortuously until the ten minutes expire. The sun has sunk, the evening sky fades to asphalt black. Better give it five more minutes just to be safe.
When I'm confident that it's finally dark enough to make my move, I get up from the carpet, and brush the microfibers off my knees. I pull my t-shirt down over my crotch as far as it will go, then reach under it to tuck my raging hard on into the elastic waist band of my drawers. Here goes nothin'.
I open the door a crack to make sure the coast is clear, then quickly glide across the hallway to the bathroom opposite. I silently pull the door shut behind me. But I can't lock it. It needs to look like no one is using the bathroom This phase is the most dangerous part of my plan. If anyone were to enter during the brief moments it takes me to slide the screen up, crawl out the window onto the low-lying roof of our add-on living room, then slide the screen back down again, I would be completely busted.
But I drop to the rooftop undetected. Splayed out on its coarse shingles, I look over my shoulder into the murky darkness of the just vacated commode to make sure I have landed on my perch undetected. Confident I have not been seen, I crane my neck forward toward the streams of tungsten spilling out of my sister's bedroom window. To improve my view, I drag myself across the roof as far as I dare, lifting my hips just enough to avoid shingle burning my still priapic penis. I prostrate myself in the darkness between the sharp parallelogram of yellow light shining through her window pane, and the pale blob of apricot haze, drifting across the roof from the high set mood lamp overlooking the patio in our back yard.
I roll onto my back and twist my neck sideways, peering over the edge of the roof. My parents are sitting on the fat cushions of the cast iron furniture on the back patio, and they're... What are they doing?... They're making out? My God, they're really going at it! Mom has dad's tongue in her mouth, a glass of sangria in her left hand, and -What?- his dick in her right. His dick! So this is what they do during "relaxation time" on hot summer nights. No wonder Deborah and I were never allowed to join them on the patio.
And even in the dim light of the mood lamp I can't help but notice the size of my father's swollen cock. It's as fat as the cushions of the cast iron patio furniture. And in its aroused state it arches up over his torso higher than his belly button. My dick's not as fat as that. And it's not as long either. I mean it's not that much shorter, but it's way thinner. What gives? I must have inherited the penis gene from my mother's side of the family, along with my pale skin and anemic red hair.
Suddenly, mom breaks free of dad, who was groping her tits over her flimsy tank top. She places the big round sangria glass in his hand instead, kneels on the wooden deck in front of him, and pulls his tennis shorts down to his ankles... What am I witnessing here?!?! She gathers up his bulbous balls in both hands, holding firmly to the base of his thick, long cock. What happens next can only be described as a miracle of nature. Like a python, she seemingly unhinges her jaw, and swallows dad's "fatty" like it's a baby crocodile. Amazing! My own "thinny" is now so hard, that it's broken free of the elastic restraint of my boxers. I feel the warm night air blow over my now exposed shaft. Dad has mom blowing him, but all that's blowing me is the faint summer breeze.
Transfixed by the sight of my beautiful mother slurping and gagging on my dad's preposterously proportioned prick, I'm about to start stroking my own more reasonably sized one, when I hear a loud squeal from my sister's room. Damn, I almost forgot about them. I twist my neck back in the other direction, and looking through the window with my head upside down, I feel the blood rushing out of my rod and back into my head. Despite the pressure on my eyes and the strain in my neck from gazing at the window the wrong way round, I can still see inside. And I can't believe what I'm looking at. I roll back the right way to make sure I'm not hallucinating, and the view from my stomach is the same as it was on my back.
All three Debs sit in a circle on my sister's bed, and all three of them are topless! (You can't make this up dear reader.) And Jessica also has her shirt off, and she's crossing to the window. I flatten myself out in that dark area of the roof as much as I can, so she won't see me, but without losing site of her nubile, ambling body for a second. She strolls through the room with a bouncing gait, but her young tits are so firm, they don't even jiggle. As she opens the sash, the aforementioned faint summer breeze wafts through the screen and hits her nipples making them hard. I noticed at first they were inverted, but now they poke outward at me from the window like it was the screen at a 3D drive-in.
"Now that feels a lot better. Too darned hot in here," she chirps.
Jess turns, giving me a perfect view of her perfect ass cheeks. They protrude out of either side of her undersized cotton panties, and are amazingly firm, just like her tits, undulating only slightly as she joins the Debs on the bed. She's like a marble statue turned to flesh, yet still maintaining her solid perfection.
