The holidays always evoke such vivid memories for me - fond flashbacks of my teenage years, when life was ripe with new experiences and discoveries. More and more, I find myself reliving those moments, like flickering images from films seen long ago. I find these recollections are often accompanied by a wellspring of emotions and sensations that the experiences originally inspired. This is especially true when those emotions and sensations were being experience for the very first time. And with your own family.
Lately, I've been reliving a particular holiday when I was still living at my parents' apartment in Paris. I was in my last year of school and counting the days until I'd be leaving for university "to start my life for real." I had matured early, both emotionally and physically, and couldn't wait until I'd achieved my independence. My older brother, Pierre, had made it "over the wall" the year before and was studying abroad. He was coming home for the Christmas break and I couldn't wait to see him.
Pierre was a year older than me but we might as well have been twins. We had been inseparable, sharing our secrets and supporting each other through the throes of adolescence. He was smart, had a head for numbers, and was pursuing a degree in international business. I was more the artistic type but we found plenty of ways to bond over the years. We complemented each other and enjoyed the pleasure of each other's company.
It wasn't always that way, of course. We had our share of tussles when we were kids. We were rambunctious and our city apartment could barely contain us. We'd chase each other around and end up wrestling on the living room floor. Occasionally, one of us would take it too far and there would be yelling and recriminations. Usually, though, we would end up in a tickle fight, laughing uproariously, and then collapse in each other's arms.
As we grew older, we both pursued our individual interests. For him, football was king - soccer, as you call it in America. I was into ballet and theater. We'd both attend each other's events, cheering each other on. We were each other's biggest fans.
When we were young, Pierre and I both worked part-time modeling. Our mother had been a model and quite famous and we were both blessed with her good genes. I had her high cheekbones and lithe body. Pierre had the body of an athlete and a strikingly handsome face.
As I matured, my body became more womanly. My breasts became fuller which my ballet teacher didn't particularly like. I still had a narrow waist and long legs but my ass became fulsome and heart-shaped. While not ideal for ballet, I learned to appreciate what nature had given me. And I started to get a lot of attention from men.
Every summer, my family would go to our beach house at Vieux St. Giron near Biarritz. It was une plage naturiste -- a nude beach, you'd call it -- so it was quite normal for us to spend the whole day without clothes. As a teenage woman, I attracted a lot of attention from men. I spent my childhood running up and down the same beach and no one paid any attention at all. Now, with my melon-sized breasts and a shapely derriere, I couldn't stroll down the beach without all the men staring. Sometimes, when my brother and I would kick the ball together, I would see the men near us with hard-ons.
I was starting to understand the effect I had on people around me. I would enjoy sitting out on the rocks, naked, with my back arched, feeling the sun caressing my body. When I looked around, the men would all be looking at me, staring at my breasts, and my upturned nipples standing out in the cool sea air. Their wives would be glaring at me as well. I would just close my eyes and smile and pull my shoulders back even more. I felt sexy all the time.
My brother was amused by all the attention I was getting. He'd call me "la fille très sexy" and then pinch me on the bottom. Or, he'd sneak up behind me and tickle the undersides of my breasts. "Imbécile!" I'd yell. But inside I liked that he saw me that way. As a sexual being, not just a little sister.
After all, I saw my brother that way too. How could I not? He was si beau. So tall and handsome. With dark curly hair and beautiful bedroom eyes. And his body. Mon Dieu, his body made me feel all creamy inside. All those days playing football and getting in shape had done him good. He had broad shoulders and a muscled body. His arms were strong and his ass was flawless. And when he turned around. Oh mon Dieu! Let's just say I was grateful to be wearing sunglasses. I couldn't take my eyes off him.
And now he was coming home for the holidays. He was arriving just in time for Mother's holiday party. It was a yearly tradition. Each year, she would invite a group of friends over for a year-end bash. They were a diverse cast of beautiful people - models, actors, designers and such. Lots of music and drinking and carrying on.
Pierre and I were getting ready for the party. I was waiting for him to stop monopolizing the bathroom we shared.
"Hurry up," I called through the door. "I have to get ready."
"I'm in the bath," he answered. "Just come in and do what you have to do."
I opened the bathroom door and saw Pierre reclining in the tub. I placed my makeup kit on the sink and fished out my lipstick.
"You've been bathing for an hour," I said. "Who do you think you are, King Farouk?"
"I miss my baths," he said, blithely. "My apartment in London only has a shower."
I leaned over the sink and started to apply my lipstick. I could see him watching me in the mirror.
"Well, hurry up. I need to shave my legs."
"Go right ahead," he shrugged. "Don't let me stop you."
"I like to soak my legs first," I explained.
"Soak away," he smiled. "There's plenty of room."
I turned and gave him a look.
"OK, fine," I said. "If that's the way you want it."
I tossed my lipstick in my kit and proceeded to unclasp my slacks. I pulled them down my long legs, revealing a sexy thong. I turned to slip out of my pants, showing him my ass.
"Ooh la la," he smiled.
I smiled back and pulled my pullover over my head. I unclasped my brassiere and slipped out of my thong.
"Voilà," I said, matter-of-factly. "Now, move over."
Pierre bent is knees and pulled his legs in and I stepped into the tub. I could feel Pierre's eyes on my body, on my breasts.
"The hottest body in all of Paris," he said gallantly. "Did you shave for me?"
I splashed water in his face.
I admit I'm rather proud of my body. My breasts are nicely shaped and sit high, with cute, upturned nipples. Pierre has always remarked how much he loved them. My slightly swayed back and round ass have also drawn a lot of compliments.
"Where am I supposed to put my legs?" I asked, standing in the water.
He spread his legs to the edges of the tub. I could see his big cock floating in the water beneath me.
I slowly lowered myself and extended my legs so they lay on top of his. My feet squeezed between his hips and the side of the tub.
It was like we were embracing each other with our legs.
His beautiful brown eyes took in my body -- my breasts above the water and my pussy below it.
"Is this okay?" he asked quietly.
I was conscious of my pussy being open to his gaze.
"Oui," I whispered, with an intake of breath.
My heart was starting to pound.
"Let's get your legs nice and hydrated," he said, running his hands along my thighs.
"Mmmm," I squirmed. "That feels good."
"Have you missed me?" he asked with a low, sexy voice.
