Perving on Natalie's Nicers

INTRODUCTION & DISCLAIMER - Growing up in Melbourne, Australia in the 1980s Justin and his younger brother Clint often wish they had a sister, a wish that comes true when their parents decide to foster Natalie, a girl from a troubled family who has ended up in the foster care system.

For years everything goes just fine, until Christmas 1989 when the now 18-year-old Justin develops a massive crush on Natalie, now also aged 18. Justin tries to banish the feelings from his mind, but his crush only gets stronger in 1990 and the sexually frustrated Justin only has one outlet for his feelings about his foster sister - voyeurism.

Natalie's knickers are the most usual focus of Justin when he is perving on Natalie, but the young man gets to see a lot more on a family picnic one day and Justin watches some secret things going on the forest between Natalie and her boyfriend Darren when they think they are alone together ...

All characters and situations in this story are fictional, with any similarity to real people living or dead coincidental and unintentional. Only characters aged 18 and over are in any sexual situations. For North American readers unfamiliar with Australian sexual slang, please note that the word fanny is used for vagina on several occasions.

Please enjoy your trip back in time to Australia in the late 1980s/early 1990s, and rate and comment.

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My younger brother Clint and I watched from the living room as two smartly attired social workers, one a middle-aged man and the other a middle-aged woman got out of the car. Following the two adults out of the car was the girl who was to be our new foster sister.

Clint and I had been very surprised a few weeks earlier when our parents sat us down and told us that they had a big surprise for us - we were going to have a new addition to our family. Immediately assuming that Mum was pregnant, we were all excited about the prospect of a new baby brother or sister and congratulated our parents, but Mum and Dad had then clarified that the new arrival would be not a baby, but a foster sibling.

Our house in Melbourne's northern suburbs had four bedrooms and two bathrooms. Mum and Dad obviously had the main bedroom, Clint one and myself another, but the fourth bedroom was a spare room containing just some boxes that could easily be stored in the garage or shed. With so many kids in unfortunate situations and looking for foster care placements, Mum and Dad had decided that their home could accommodate a foster child.

They didn't arrive straight away, of course. Mum and Dad had to go through a few different interviews, paperwork and procedures, but soon everything was in place. With me being 11 and turning 12 later in the year and Clint two years younger, my brother and I possessed fertile imaginations and wondered just what our new foster sibling would be like. Would they be really young, a toddler or baby, primary school age or would they be older, perhaps a teenager? Would they be a girl or a boy? Would they be fat or slim? Would they be nice or horrible?

Clint and I pondered and speculated until Mum and Dad told us that our new foster sister would be a girl named Natalie, who was 11 going on 12 just like me, and was arriving tomorrow morning. So on that cool Saturday morning in May 1983, Natalie joined our family.

Looking out the window, Clint and I observed Natalie closely. She was quite tall for her age with long light brown hair, and very pretty. She carried with her a bag that I presumed contained her clothes and personal effects, the female social worker carrying a second smaller backpack. Natalie was attired in a black and white Magpies football jumper, blue jeans and white sneakers, and it was her jumper that caught our attention most.

"I like her already Justin, she's a Magpies fan, that is so cool," said Clint.

"Yeah, she has good taste in football teams," I agreed.

Both Clint and I were huge fans of the Magpies, even though they never seemed able to win the Grand Final and that Natalie liked them too made a good first impression, and soon we were introduced to our new foster sister and began a new chapter in our lives.

Natalie came from a very troubled family background, with an older brother in a juvenile remand center, a father who she had never met, and an abrasive, alcoholic and neglectful mother who would sometimes leave Natalie alone all night in their somewhat dangerous housing commission flat, one of the many bleak high rise buildings found in Melbourne's inner suburbs. Other times she would simply lock Natalie out of the flat to let her roam free sometimes on very hot, cold or wet days, just to get her out of her way.

Not surprisingly, young Natalie had run off the rails quite considerably, and was getting into trouble at school (which she often failed to attend) and for shoplifting, although she had only stolen food from the supermarket as there was none in the house as her mother had spent it all on booze and smokes. She had tried to live with other relatives, but things hadn't worked out with her religious zealot grandmother, and things were even worse when she lived with an aunt who had a drug problem and was already taking care of Natalie's senile grandfather. She had hated the first foster home she had been allocated to and run away, and was miserable in a group home for other troubled children.

The challenge was not to see how Natalie would get along with our family. Although for the most part polite and cooperative, at first she had some rough edges that definitely needed to be sanded down. Natalie had a bit of a smart mouth and could be extremely sarcastic, and possessed an interesting vocabulary. The weekend after she joined our family we took her to the football to watch the Magpies play as a 'welcome to the family' outing. Everything was fine until young Natalie disagreed with an umpiring decision that went against the Magpies, and Natalie's response contained many four letter expletives that suggested that a sailor might be her most suitable occupation as an adult.

At school Natalie was in my class given we were the same age, and while she seemed to get along okay with the main teacher she could not abide the bitchy art teacher, Natalie telling her to 'get fucked' one day before storming not only out of class but the school as well, somehow finding her way all the way into Melbourne city and hanging out by the Yarra River until collected and brought home.

Natalie, understandably because of her background, was also wary about showing vulnerability. When my brother and I came across her crying one day she became most defensive, running off so as not to appear weak in front of us. It was a similar story when she was off school sick one day and Mum had her lying down with a bucket because she had been vomiting. Natalie was horrified that Clint, Dad and I had seen her in this position because she thought it made her look weak.

In time however Natalie's hard exterior thawed and she adjusted. In a stable home and school environment that she liked the waif from a troubled family background soon began to blossom. She was always helpful around the house, played netball, made friends and applied herself to her studies with no more truancy or misbehaving in class, getting good grades. Her bad language was curtailed, and her sarcasm turned into a great sense of humor.

Clint and I were so pleased that our parents fostered Natalie. She was like the sister we had always wanted but never had, and despite having a very feminine appearance was a tomboy, and loved playing football and cricket and riding bikes with us. Although my younger brother and I learned one important lesson from Natalie coming onto the scene - girls take forever in the bathroom getting ready.

Natalie continued to live with our family through adolescence, and continued to blossom from a troubled child into a beautiful, intelligent and well-adjusted young woman who had plenty of friends, continued to play netball and aspired to being a nurse when she was an adult. Clint and I had previously discussed with each other our fear that Natalie would leave - that she would be returned to her own family or that she would be sent to another foster family and some horrible kid would replace her, but our fears proved unfounded. Natalie's biological family was so dysfunctional and her relationship with them untenable, so she would not be going back to live with them. And Natalie was really happy at our house and doing well, and we all loved her so the child protective services were happy with the situation, Natalie remaining with us to the delight of all five of us.

A foster sibling situation is a hard one to describe. She was obviously a friend to my brother and I, and very much like a biological or adopted sister, but not quite. We actually did look quite similar, I had the same color of light brown hair as Natalie and given that we were the same age and born just weeks apart, sometimes we were taken for being brother-sister twins. Given that Clint and I obviously addressed our parents as Mum and Dad and Natalie called them Alice and Ross, there was always that difference. She was in some ways like a cousin but not quite that either. It was always hard for me to properly describe the foster sibling dynamic, I was never able to do so. But while describing the situation was difficult, without doubt I loved Natalie like a sister.

Natalie continued to shine throughout Year 12, like me had obtained her driver's license and was acing her VCE subjects, meaning she was on track to attain her ambition of becoming a nurse. Like me she held down a part time job at a local shopping mall, and recently had met a great boyfriend in Darren, a tall and handsome young blonde man who played football. Darren was a really nice guy, and they were really happy together. I couldn't have been more pleased for her, and neither could my parents or younger brother.

Then one day just before Christmas 1989 soon after both Natalie and I had turned 18 and finished high school, the most extraordinary thing happened completely out of the blue. I developed a crush on Natalie. It happened so fast, and just why I could not explain. Natalie usually took an aerobics class on Thursday morning, and this particular day I was getting ready for work and saw her return from the gym, looking nice in her pink leotard and matching pink head band, her long brown hair tied back in a pony-tail. I looked at Natalie's big brown eyes as she passed by me in the hallway on her way to shower and get ready for work and said hello, and something malfunctioned in my brain and heart at the same time, suddenly giving me a full-blown crush on the girl who was my foster sister.

At first I tried to deny it. I didn't have a crush on Natalie, I couldn't have a crush on Natalie; it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. It had to be just this, there could not be any other explanation. It would all be over by Christmas, which was just five days away. But it didn't go away, and my heart was all aflutter watching Natalie eating Christmas dinner with the family, then again at the Boxing Day cricket test at the MCG which we went to with some friends. Even as Natalie sat holding hands with her boyfriend Darren, I couldn't stop thinking about how hot she looked.

I lay in bed at night worrying about my feelings for my foster sister. Was I sick, mentally ill maybe? Had the stress of my VCE exams set off some sort of delayed nervous breakdown? At least she wasn't my biological or adopted sister or cousin, I told myself; that really would have been sick. But still, Natalie and I had lived together like siblings since she was 11, and it was still totally inappropriate.

It wouldn't last, I reassured myself. It was nearly the end of the year, and the curtain would come down not only on the year 1989, but the decade of the 1980s too. Soon it would be a new decade, the 1990s, and this silly crush would all be over for the New Year, and things would go back to normal.

I actually believed this theory when the clock struck midnight on 31 December 1989, the New Year's Eve fireworks lit up the Yarra River and tall Melbourne buildings such as the Rialto, and went to bed in the early hours of the morning thinking this would be the case. But upon waking on 1st January 1990, I immediately walked into Natalie in the kitchen, my foster sister barefoot and wearing the oversized Magpies tee-shirt over panties she often wore to bed, my crush was still there and as big as ever.

As the early months of the year 1990 progressed, Natalie started her university course as a nurse and I started mine in accounting, both of us working the same part time jobs as we had done in high school. My studies did not distract me from crushing on my foster sister, in fact the crush only got bigger. We attended the same university, and I found myself planning ways I could have 'chance meetings' with Natalie between lectures. My heart raced at twice its normal speed whenever I saw Natalie, whenever she spoke either to me or somebody else or when somebody spoke about her. I would use all sorts of excuses to bring her into the conversation, and would wish for other people to bring her up so I could talk about her more.

Of course, I would never do anything about my crush - it had to stay a deeply guarded secret. Natalie and I were foster siblings, it was totally inappropriate and Natalie would have freaked her out had she known my feelings about her. Mum and Dad would have freaked too, wondering just sort of pervert they had raised as an eldest son, and I think my younger brother would have described me as a 'poofter'. In the opinion of Clint and his friends, anything slightly abnormal was 'poofter'. Being homosexual was obviously poofter, cross-dressing was poofter, sensitive new age guys were poofter and young men who went around crushing on their foster sisters presumably would have been poofter too, despite the party with the crush being male and the object of his affections female.

Above all, Natalie had a serious boyfriend Darren and they clearly loved each other and were good for each other. I was genuinely happy for Natalie, she had had such a bad start in life and had found true love so young and wouldn't want to do anything to upset this for her. Even if I had been stupid enough to tell Natalie how I felt about her and this hadn't resulted in her running so fast an hour later she would have made it to Adelaide, I would never have my feelings reciprocated. I wished I could find a girlfriend so I wouldn't have these dumb feelings about my foster sister, but had no luck. Darren actually did set me up on a date with his sister Lisa, but she didn't seem all that keen on me and we had no chemistry. And all through our one and only date, all I could think about was Natalie.

With such strong feelings about my secret crush, there was only one outlet for my sexual frustrations regarding Natalie, and this was voyeurism. I would admire my foster sister's perfect D-cup breasts in her blouses or tee-shirts, and her fine teenage body in her tight stone-washed jeans, shorts, her black stirrup pant leggings, her leotard, and her short skirts.

When Natalie went to take a shower, I would loiter close to the bathroom door listening to the water flowing, imagining the droplets soaking her flawless skin and running down her wonderful breasts, down her flat stomach and long legs to her bare feet and the shower floor. I would imagine Natalie's triangle of pubic hair getting nice and wet and filled with soap and bubbles as my foster sister washed her pussy. When she turned off the shower and dried herself, I would imagine her using the towel to dry her private female areas between her legs.

Other times Natalie would obviously need to go to the toilet, and again despite my conscience reprimanding me for doing so I would loiter as close to the toilet door as I could without rousing suspicion. I would think about Natalie sitting on the loo with her knickers down around her ankles, and would listen to the splashing, tinkling sound of her peeing into the toilet. If Natalie needed to have a poo and obviously was on the toilet for longer, I would listen to the sound of her unwinding toilet paper from the roll and fantasize about what she looked like, at the same time finding it hard to believe that my perfect foster sister actually emptied her bowels and used toilet paper to wipe her bottom. Obviously keen to keep my toilet voyeurism a secret, I would beat a hasty retreat as soon as I heard Natalie flush the toilet and was always somewhere else when she emerged to wash her hands.

At other times Natalie would without meaning to do or say something to turn me on. We were at the supermarket one Saturday morning. I had purchased some toothpaste, when Natalie reached over to the adjacent shelf, took a packet of super absorbent period pads, and placed them in our trolley.

Natalie then grinned her mischievous grin, making her even prettier, pointed at her feminine hygiene products and said, "Next week I'm not having any fun, my boyfriend isn't having any fun and if you and Clint piss me off, you sure won't be having any fun either."

Walking with Natalie down the next aisle, she was wearing her stirrup pant leggings, and bent over to scratch an itch on one of her feet, allowing me to get a good view of Natalie's panty lines through the tight fabric, the outline of her perfect bum and between her legs, the shape of her vulva. I looked into the trolley at Natalie's napkins, thinking about how next week the white oblong objects within the packet would be adhered to Natalie's knickers and pulled up between her legs, catching the menstrual blood that flowed from her vagina. For some strange reason, the thought of Natalie wearing a sanitary pad turned me on - perhaps it was the feminine mystique of the whole thing - and I had to fight hard to prevent getting an erection in the middle of the supermarket.

Without doubt, it was Natalie's knickers that fascinated me more than anything else. She always wore cotton bikini-style panties, and had panties of various colors and prints. Some of Natalie's teen panties were pure white, others were pastel color - pink, blue, yellow, green, purple and orange. One pair of panties was turquoise with yellow triangles and leg and waist elastic. Some of her undies were white with flowers on them - one pair had blue flowers, another pink flowers, yellow flowers and a fourth pair had purple flowers. Another pair of Natalie's knickers had cartoon dolphins on them, one had various different types of fruit, one pair had multi-colored polka dots and another pair was very interesting indeed. These panties were white like the cartoon dolphin and the polka dot knickers, but had on them stars, suns, moons, comets and planets. The yellow planet Venus could be found on the front of the panties that covered Natalie's pubic mound, and the green planet Uranus could be found at the back where the panties could go between the cheeks of her bum. The planet Uranus could actually come in close contact to Natalie's anus. I found this amusing, not to mention hot.

So how did I know so much about my foster sister's undies that they could have been my special subject on a TV quiz show? To my very secret shame, perving on Natalie's knickers at every chance I got.

Whenever Natalie did her laundry, I would look at the washing line afterwards and see the panties she had washed hanging there drying in the breeze. I would look at her bras too, thinking about them covering her big teenage tits, but her knickers were far more interesting. When Natalie was wearing a short skirt and got up sometimes one could catch a glimpse of her panties, the cotton fabric covering her private female areas. When alone in the house I would sneak into Natalie's bedroom and go through her underwear drawer, seeing her clean knickers in there awaiting their turn to be worn by the owner. I would nervously reach into the drawer and touch the soft cotton of Natalie's teen panties, thinking about how they would cover the most interesting parts of her young body the next time she wore them.