It Started With A Kiss Ch 01

Frank Cassidy was one of those guys at school that you envied, yet couldn’t help like. Everyone liked him, the girls loved him because he never tried anything on the first, third or even tenth date - unless they were ready - and the guys did because he seemed to be able to drift from social group to social group with the grace of an Olympic ice skater. His life was perfect, or so he thought, until today when he did something that could have the potential to bring his entire life crashing and burning around him.

As the echo of the school bell left all the students’ ears, the familiar murmur of voices drifted down the locker hallway, with a continual and almost musical ‘whap’ of the locker doors as the students slammed them shut.

It was the final year of school and Frank found it fitting that Julie Bowman’s locker was below his, and that she was greeted to the close-up of his crotch between each class and after school. Julie was a stuck-up snob and almost the only person that attended Grammacy High that disliked him, even borderline hated him. And he didn’t know why. He’d asked her, but each time she just upped her nose at him and walked away, leaving him perplexed.

Grinning, he pressed his crotch into the back of her head while pretending to reach into the back of his locker for something. There was no way she could mistake what it was. Yelping in surprise, she whipped her head sideways and looked up at him angrily. She was a cute girl, shapely figure, but at no time while in her tenure at Grammacy had she ever dated the opposite sex. The rumour was that she was a lesbian, but even Frank disliked gossip of that nature and never partook in it. Julie didn’t make it easy for anyone to like her, Frank included, yet he didn’t dislike her enough to spread unsubstantiated rumours of that calibre.

“You filthy bastard,” she hissed.

“What? I didn’t do anything Julie.”

Slamming shut her locker door with slightly more effort than necessary, she rose from her kneeling position and looked him right in the eyes.

“You know exactly what you did and I have the right mind to go and tell Mr. Salsbury.”

“Julie,” he said, raising his voice so others could hear, “I can’t help it if you like getting down on your knees in front of my crotch every day. I mean hey, I’m flattered, sometimes it just gives me the wrong impression, that’s all. Honest mistake.”

There was a hush in the hallway and Julie realised that everyone was looking at them. Her eyes opened wide with embarrassment, cast a nervous glance around and with the finality of a spoilt brat she yelled at him a singular, ever so unique comeback, “bastard!” and then stalked off.

When she was gone the guys laughed and patted him on the back, he even saw that most of the girls were sporting grins that they were trying to hold back or cover with their hands. No one at Grammacy liked Julie.

Pete Marshall, his closest pal, smiled, shook his head and shut his locker door.

“You have a cruel streak in you, Frank,” he said.

“Hey man, she asks for it. She needs to thaw out a bit and lighten up. Besides, she’s never liked me and I don’t know why.”

Frank shut his locker door and shouldered his knapsack. The people in the hallway had mostly gone on their merry way and Frank cast a furtive glance at his friend.

“Why doesn’t she, Pete?”

“You know, the great Frank Cassidy is not a saint, there’ll be people who will come into your life and dislike you…it just so happens that around this place there’s only one.”

Frank laughed. “You know Pete, for somebody who talks a lot you don’t particularly have much to say. Why doesn’t she like me, a straight answer would be great?”

Pete Marshall sighed. Placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder, he looked him in the eye sporting a slight grimace and told him. “She’s in love with you man.”

Pete picked up his bag and hooked it over his right shoulder, leaving his friend to digest this morsel of information as he turned away and started down the hall.

Frank looked at his hands, no way, there’s no way she was in love with him. Was she?

“What the fuck do you mean she’s in love with me?” he shouted down the now deserted hall to his friend’s back.

Pete couldn’t hold it in, he started to laugh and it echoed down the hall into Frank’s ears. Frank shook his head and laughed softly, Pete the bastard, he nearly had him. He turned away from his locker and walked the opposite way down the hall.

“Au revoir asshole,” he shouted over his shoulder.

“See you later, dipshit,” was Pete’s response.

Frank’s house was a couple of miles from school and he walked it every day, a sort of sure-fire way of keeping fit. He always walked it alone too, he made it clear to everyone that this was his time, his alone time. He didn’t get much of that since he was so popular. It wasn’t conceited of him to think that way, it was true, and it would be false modesty if he were to say that he wasn’t well-liked by most.

Other than the periodical massaging of his crotch into the back of Julie Bowman’s head, he was single and hadn’t had a girlfriend in three months. The last girl he had dated, Kathy Williams, had left an emotional crater in him, he’d loved her, but she’d had serious trouble trusting him. She’d thought that at any moment of the day he would leave her, find someone else and dump her right away. After a while he couldn’t take it, she was just so worried and jealous whenever she saw him talk to another girl, or even cast his eyes over one. It broke his heart when he had to break up with her, but he knew that it was the best for both of them.

He sighed, yeah, it was best for both of them. But it still hurt.

Attracting the ladies wasn’t a problem for Frank Cassidy. He was blessed with his father’s sandy-brown hair, his mother’s good looks and his great-grandfather’s natural sporting prowess, which managed to keep his body athletic and in good shape.

When he arrived home from school he didn’t bother about slipping his house key out of his jeans, he knew that Monica would be home; she had a spare last period and always came home early.

Monica was his younger sister and they were in the same year level at school. No matter how often he thought about it, it was hard to believe that she was roughly nine months younger than him. His father must’ve been on top of his mother only seconds after he’d been squirted out to pull that off.

He walked through the unlocked door and was glad that his parents weren’t going to be home for another hour or so. On his way to his room he realised he hadn’t seen Monica in the kitchen; she’s usually in there with a glass of milk in one hand and a cookie in the other, ready to chat to him about her day or generally shoot the bull.

Shrugging, he walked past his sister’s closed door and dumped his bag in his room, then changed out of his uniform. Most of the students at Grammacy hated wearing the uniform, but Frank loved it. Well, not wearing it, but the fact that all the girls had to. A lot of the girls looked really cute in the uniform, especially the ones with nicely shaped breasts, because the fabric of the shirt clung alluring to them. Whoever invented the uniform had to be a pervert, had to be. Frank grinned, he was reaping all the benefits.

While grabbing a couple of biscuits out of the cupboard in the kitchen he cocked his head for any sounds in the house at all, he could vaguely hear something, but didn’t know what.

“Mon?” he shouted. “You home, Mon?”

He walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway, recalling her closed door. Rapping his knuckles on the wood, he asked again softly, “Monica, you in there sis?”

He heard some sniffling and the sound of someone blowing their nose behind the door. Shit, he thought. If that punk Robert Gault had done anything to her he was going to break his face open.

“No, it’s okay, I’m fine,” she said.

“You sure don’t sound fine Monica, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, please just go away.”

He placed the palm of his hand on the door, feeling the grain of it. He loved his sister, she was the most important person in his life and he was extremely protective of her. Lately he’d…no, he wasn’t going to think about that.

He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it. She didn’t protest when it squeaked, so he pushed it all the way open and entered. He was a bit of a romantic at heart, there was something about the damsel in distress that made him want to be the shoulder to lean on.

Inside, his sister was sitting on the edge of her bed crying, her eyes red and puffy and a box of tissues lying next to her. Her waste paper basket was at her feet, wads of tissues piling up inside, and her hand was shaking as she lifted another tissue to wipe at her nose. She was still in her uniform and he felt a stir in his pants when he saw that she was still in her shirt, sans jumper. After all, he was only human and his sister had a very shapely chest.

He sat down next to her and grabbed a tissue out of the box, bringing it up to her face and wiping gently at the tears as they tracked their way down her cheeks. He slid an arm around her waist as he dabbed at her eyes. They’d always been close as brother and sister, yet at the moment it felt that not only did she need him, but he also needed her. Close contact with a girl, he realised, had been something he’d missed an awful lot since his break-up with Kathy. It didn’t seem to matter that the contact was with his sister, she was a beautiful young girl and it felt good to be touching her.

It had been an ongoing problem for him as they had both grown up, he’d watched as she turned into a sweet-looking teenager, then an even more stunning young woman. Monica had the most beautiful green eyes that he’d ever seen, he found quite often that he would stare into them for just a second too long and he would then worry that she would know what he was thinking, or worse, what he was feeling.

She was never one to be upset by something small, something big must’ve happened. His heart melted as he watched her being wracked by small sobs so he did the best he could, he just sat there and held her.

With one long last sniff and blow of a tissue she turned to him and tried to smile. He moved a hand above her brow and swept back some of the hair that had fallen over her face, tucking it back behind her ears tenderly with his index finger. She had lovely honey-blond hair that came to her shoulders, which was currently tucked into a ponytail, some strands had obviously escaped.

Now that she had more of a grip it was time for him to relinquish the arm around her waist – he didn’t want to but he knew that he had to.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked softly.

A few moments passed and he thought she wasn’t going to answer, but then she did.

“You’ll think I’m just a little kid Franky, I feel like I’m a little kid, it’s just so stupid.”

Franky was the nickname that his sister had given him since she was little, she only used it at home and no one else other than family knew about it. It’d always sounded cute coming out of her mouth so he’d let it slide. He liked it these days, because, well, he liked everything about his sister, perhaps a little too much.

“No I won’t. It’s okay if you tell me,” he paused for a moment and then gazed into her wet eyes. “Is it about Robert?”

She looked away, yup, there it is. Robert was the guy she was dating at the moment. He was a real dickhead and it didn’t surprise Frank that he’d hurt Monica in some way. The problem was Robert was her first real boyfriend, which always struck him as strange since she was so beautiful. He didn’t think that any guy had ever asked her out before Robert had. Perhaps anyone that ever liked her just assumed that she would say no, and she was always too timid to ask out somebody she liked.

“He…he…dumped me. He said that…that he didn’t want to go out with a girl that takes it slow…wh….who’s a frigid bitch,” she sobbed. She put her face in her hands and started to cry again.

Frank was going to fuck him up big time, that guy wasn’t going to have any limbs left when he was done. How could you say that to a girl? He shook his head, amazed that such an asshole could be created.

As he slipped his arm around her again she sagged against his body, laying her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were closed and tears were streaming down her lovely face again, running off the edge of her cheeks and falling onto his t-shirt. With his other hand he rubbed at her right arm, softly caressing the smooth, warm skin. It seemed to be making her feel better and it was certainly having an impact on him, too. He couldn’t believe at a time like this, with his sister crying, that he could be getting a hardon. His dick was being totally inconsiderate.

“How on earth would that make me think you’re a kid?” he asked, looking down at her. She opened her eyes and looked at him, her hair was tickling his neck and the warmth of her body just felt so great. Damn it, he shouted at himself, pull it together man.

“Be…because I wouldn’t kiss him,” she said demurely. “I’ve never kissed a guy before and I was afraid I’d do it wrong. When I told him, he laughed and said I was just a dumb blond.”

He pushed all of his hatred for Robert down into his gut, far away from where she could see it and just looked at her. The image of her sweet face calmed him down instantly, her green eyes so open and expressive, how could he think of hate when he was looking at her?

“Mon, you’re anything but dumb, you’re one of the most intelligent girls I know. And…the first kiss is hard, you’re not a kid just because you’ve never kissed someone, you just have to find the right person.”

She didn’t say anything for a while and they just sat there in silence, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist. He knew that what he was thinking was wrong, she was his sister for God’s sake, yet he couldn’t see past the fact that she was so gorgeous. Lately he’d found himself looking at her body more and more, staring at the generous curves of her breasts, how shapely her ass was, her long legs and her lovely face. He should have been disgusted with himself, thinking these sick and perverted things. But knowing wouldn’t stop him, couldn’t stop him.

He retracted his arm from around her, mentally slapping himself awake and realising that he was to get up and remove himself from her room before he did something stupid. Really stupid.

He opened his mouth to tell her everything would be okay, she’d find the right guy sooner or later, when she put her hand on top of his and stroked it tenderly. She slipped her head from his shoulder and stared at him, her eyes were shimmering and her mouth was half-opened as if she was about to say something..

“What?” he asked.

She looked down, her lips were trembling and he sensed that she was about to tell him something very important.

“Do you think, um, do you think that you could maybe show me, um, show me how to kiss?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

It took him a few moments to realise that she was actually asking him to kiss her. Could he? Should he? The real question was: would he be able to stop himself at one kiss? Instead of tip-toeing through the tulips he decided to grab the bull by the horns.

“You want me to kiss you on the mouth, as in, properly kiss you?”

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay,” she said demurely. “I just…don’t know who else to ask. I’m so worried that I’ll do it wrong, but if I do it with you it won’t matter, ‘cause you’re a decent guy and won’t make fun if I botch it.”

This was one curve ball he’d never seen coming. It was the secret formula that every baseball pitcher kept for a rainy day, when things were getting truly out of hand. One of his strongest and recurring fantasies was kissing Monica, in fact, it played like a broken record on some days, he would daydream about it over and over and over. Of course, there were many other fantasies about her that weren’t quite as innocent as the one where they make out, and quite often they involved largely, if not exclusively, his cock sliding between the lips of her pussy.

“You’re not disgusted with me, are you?” she asked, her face riddled with worry.

“Mon, god no, I could never, ever be disgusted with you. I’d…be honoured to be the first guy to kiss you.”

In what felt like slow motion he cupped her face in his hands and moved his mouth close to hers. It suddenly dawned on him that Monica may harbour similar feelings towards him. They were extremely close, even for siblings, and occasionally he’d wondered if the meaningful looks she gave him weren’t just his horny imagination running rampant.

Gently, he brushed his lips against hers, telling himself that it will only be a peck, that’s all. They both closed their eyes as he kept giving her small kisses, her breath was becoming heavier and her hands went up around his neck and dangled down his back. The light fragrance of her perfume was overpowering – only a peck – and then he slowly eased his tongue into her mouth. She moaned loudly, and as she’d seen in countless romance movies she slid her tongue against his and wetly kissed him back.

He removed his hands from her face and slid them around her back, pulling her close to him, never breaking the kiss. The soft push of her breasts against his chest didn’t escape either of them. Their tongues swirled against one another’s, time was lost as they kissed, she ran her hands through his hair and they both sighed into each other’s mouths.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he pulled his mouth away from hers and looked at her. Her leaf-green eyes were fixed unwaveringly on his, they weren’t looking sad and miserable now, they were glowing and so was her entire face. Her lips were shiny and wet, their bodies still firmly stuck together. It would take a small nuclear device to separate his body from hers; he was holding her that tightly.

Because of the way they were sitting his raging erection wasn’t rubbing against her. He had never in his life been this hard, he felt like he was going to explode. She was just so gorgeous, and he’d kissed her! He couldn’t believe it had happened, that he was holding his sister and they had just French kissed!

“Wow,” she whispered, her breathing hard and irregular. “Did I do it right?

“You can’t get much more right than that, Monica. That was hot like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I believe it. It was everything I imagined and more.”

“Just not with the right guy, huh?” he asked, a lump forming in his throat at the thought of having to relinquish the sensation of her soft, warm body.

“No,” she said, averting her eyes, “it was with the right guy.”

Before he lost his nerve he leaned forward and kissed her again, long and hard, their tongues sliding and sucking as they began to moan and whimper. He slid his hand downwards to massage her neck muscles with a skill that could only be born from experience.

Monica was a quick learner and it seemed as if her body melted into his as their tongues began to wrestle with a ferocious intensity. She was panting hard and unashamedly enjoying every moment that they kissed, which surprised Frank because he’d assumed that she would be as self-conscious doing the act as she was in talking about it. They both continued to moan loudly as they shared their exquisitely passionate kiss and, listening to her small sighs of pleasure, he became even bolder so he slid his hand from her throat and down the slope of her right breast.

Her eyes flashed open when she realised what he was going to do, he was going to feel her up. She untangled her tongue from his, disentangled herself from his arms and came to her senses.

“Too fast,” she panted, placing her right hand on his chest. “Way too fast.”