This story is a complete fantasy, but I hope you enjoy it. Please comment and vote. Thank you.
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The contrast between me and my sister Melanie could not have been more pronounced. She's two and a half years older than I am, and for as long as I could remember, she had been the apple of everyone's eye. It helped that she was tall and slim, pretty and clever, good at school, successful at sports, and popular with other kids. Unlike me.
I was your classic late developer. Until I was about 14, I was small and weedy, anywhere between three and six inches shorter than my peer group, thin and pallid. Spotty as well. And where Mel had luxuriantly thick dark hair, I had a sparse gingery pelt that always looked untidy: I shaved my head from the age of 16, which helped a bit.
Maybe it was because of my physical shortcomings, but I was also crap at school, and regularly got poor marks and bad reports. It was as if the gods had conspired to give Mel everything that I lacked - and then some.
It didn't help that we went to the same school, and maybe it was because of this that Mel bullied me mercilessly. Her favourite insult was when she called me "Little Davie - The runt of the litter" and, in front of her many friends, would announce that I wasn't really her brother, and that I was adopted. Much to everyone's amusement.
I knew it wasn't true because I had seen my birth certificate, and hers, and we were both born to the same parents. But it still hurt, especially as her friends may have thought it was true, and because I had no-one to back me up.
Our father had died in an industrial accident when I was five and Mel was nearly eight. Our mother was awarded substantial damages, part of which she used to pay for our education - hence Mel and me being at the same private school.
I couldn't really remember dad, but according to my mother he was tall and tough, a former soldier and rugby player, and was very popular with everyone who knew him. She said this in a slightly wistful way when looking at me... another contrast.
When I was 14, things got even worse between me and Mel, if that were possible. It didn't particularly bother me, and I'm not going to talk about it here -- just use your imagination. But Mel clearly just forgot what she'd done, and that added to the hurt.
In fact, her contempt when she saw me became even pronounced, and she took to ignoring me completely. Although we lived in the same house, we might as well have been living in different cities. Different countries even. Sadly, even with my limited knowledge of these things, I could see that Mel was turning from a girl to a beautiful young woman, whereas I seemed to be stuck in perpetual childhood. Peter Pan without the ability to fly.
She sailed through her GCSEs, left our school and went to a nearby sixth-form college to do her A-Levels, which meant I saw her even less. After a time, she would be studiously polite when we met, but refused point-blank to indulge in any conversation. I thought "Fuck it, I don't care" but I did care, and it made me feel desperately sad.
Meantime I put in a growth spurt, and between my 14th and 16th birthdays I grew seven inches taller and 50 pounds heavier. I had a ravenous appetite to go with it, but I ate well, thanks to my mother. I also became quite good at some sports, played rugby for my school and won a couple of cups in local swimming competitions. These went on the sideboard with Mel's dozen or so larger trophies won in county tennis championships. As you might have expected.
In due course, I got a decent crop of GCSEs - not as good as Mel's of course - and went to the same sixth-form college, although she had left by then. Around the time I started my A-Levels, she came back from a gap year working in Nepal, although being away in a Buddhist community had not taught her much about family affection and kindness to others. When she got back, I asked if she had had a good time, and she simply said "Yeah, OK," and carried on talking to my mother.
Mind you, while she had been away she had become absolutely stunning to look at. She had grown her naturally wavy, rich dark hair, and with her beautiful bone structure she looked like a model. Her figure had developed as well, filling out in all the right places, and she looked gorgeous. Still a miserable fucker though.
Anyway, three weeks later she went off to Cambridge on a scholarship to read for a degree in Politics, Philosophy and Economics, although she could just as easily have done modern languages. There was already talk of her joining the diplomatic service or the Cabinet Office when she got her (almost inevitable) First.
While she was at Cambridge, I finished my A-Levels and before I went to university (no, not Cambridge: Manchester, reading Maths and Computer Science if you must know) I did a gap year working for Microsoft in Germany. That Christmas, I came back home for a few days, and Mel was there with her boyfriend, Doug, a big Scottish guy whom she'd met in her first year at Cambridge.
I had met him a couple of times, and he seemed like a decent bloke, and he was clearly another high achiever. Good with the chat, as well. He was always charming to my mother and appeared genuinely interested in me and my future career. Mel, of course, spent as little time as she could in the same room as me.
Before they left to spend New Year with Doug's parents, he caught me and Mum on our own, said he wanted to ask Mel to marry him and asked for our blessing. Mum burst into tears of delight, while I simply said, "Welcome to the family" and shook his hand. Part of me felt a sense of loss, which is strange because, if you think about it, I'd lost Mel years before.
The following October I went off to university. I had a great time at Manchester - brilliant city, great university - with the only slight downer coming during my second year, when Mel got married, and out of the blue she sent me an email asking if I would give her away. She said she had wanted our mother to be the person who did it, but Mum had said it had to be a man. Mel said that Mum had also ruled out our Uncle Charlie, threatening that unless I was asked, she would not to go to the wedding at all. Grudging isn't the word for it.
I mean, I didn't want to give her away -- in truth, I didn't actually want to go to the wedding - and I wished Mum had kept her nose out of it. I felt like writing back to Mel and telling her the truth, because it was clear she didn't want me anywhere near her "special day". But I couldn't do that to Mum and, you know, it gave me perverse pleasure to accept the invitation, because I knew it would piss Mel off. Especially as I intended to do the job perfectly.
So, on a warm Summer's day, I arrived at Mum's house in the bridal car to collect Mel. She looked absolutely breathtaking in her dress, which was both clingingly sexy and suitably demur. I wanted to tell her so, but she seemed half-scared, and I thought slightly angry, so I just kissed her on the cheek. She didn't like that much either.
We had a couple of pictures taken outside the house and then, on the way to the car, I turned and said to her "Look, it's going to be fine." I stopped and we looked intently at each other (strangely, like we were in love) and I said, "I promise, I will not do or say anything that would remotely embarrass you. OK?"
Suddenly there were tears in her eyes and a doubting look on her face. "Please," she said. "Let's get this over and done with," and walked to the car. Oh well, what the hell, I'd tried.
The rest of the day was OK. I was charming to everyone and made a superb brother-of-the-bride speech, even if I do say so myself, with a few good jokes and some kind and thoughtful remarks about our late father, our mother, and about Mel and Doug. I proposed a toast, got a round of applause, and sat down next to a proud and tearful mother.
After the meal, I chatted to a few of Doug's Hooray Henry workmates -- he'd got himself a massively well-paid job working in the City of London - and I danced with Mum and with a couple of the bridesmaids. Mel continued to avoid me, although she did thank me for my speech.
I stood and watched the dancing for a while. Mel had shed her veil and let loose her hair, had a few drinks, and was dirty-dancing with every man in the place. She looked really sexy. If she had a bra on, it wasn't particularly confining, and her breasts bounced rhythmically to the music. I found myself imagining her naked -- as, I guess, did every heterosexual man in the room, though in a less weird way than me. Doug, meanwhile, was standing drinking Scotch with his mates, looking extremely handsome, albeit rather drunk, in his kilt.
Fairly soon, though, I got fed up with all the noise and the drunks. Mum was happy enough, tearing up the dance floor with her gay friend Billy, and because I didn't fancy any of the single women, I went back to my hotel well before midnight.
Laying alone in my bed, my thoughts turned to Mel, about what had happened when we were younger and about how gorgeous she had looked tonight. The thought of her naked body was impossible to lose, and I could see in my mind's eye her full breasts, slim waist, flat belly and beautiful arse. I felt an erection growing, and I started to play with my stiffening cock, imagining that it was Mel's hands on me again.
Strangely, I suppose, I didn't have any feelings of guilt or shame, just sheer pleasure. I built slowly to a climax and the orgasm was incredibly intense, one of the best I had ever had, and I shot stream after stream of cum on to my belly. My last thought before I went to sleep was that it was such a pity she didn't like me. Although she would probably not have indulged me again even if she did.
The morning after the wedding, I checked out of my hotel, went to say goodbye to Mum and drove back to Manchester. Mel and Doug went off on honeymoon to a private island in the Seychelles -- a wedding present from Doug's investment-fund boss, who owned the island.
