Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains - no matter how improbable - must be the truth.
Sherlock Holmes
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Foreplay: This is something new for me, so my apologies if it doesn't work for you. You have the choice of endings - either one or the other takes place, not both of them. Either sister or mother takes Brendan's virginity - its up to you.
It could have happened on any street, in any town and in any country, indeed I was sure that it often did - perhaps much more than was reported to local cops. OK, you read about it in the local press and sometimes, if serious enough, in the national redtop newspapers. This time however it happened in my home town and on a street where I was biking home from my mate's house, early evening on a mild October day.
An elderly lady, laden with two carrier bags full of food, was making her way slowly towards the bus stop when two young lads stopped her, asking her if she knew the time - I know this from what she told me later. Of course it was an excuse. They started pushing her, making her drop her bags then they demanded her purse - containing her weekly pension, she told me - hitting her as she stubbornly refused.
I dropped my bike and quickly ran to help her. The kids - only 11 or 12 years old I guess - ran off, but not before pushing her roughly to the ground. I had the choice of chasing the two on my bike but they darted up a narrow alley between two shops. I decided to help the old lady, easing her up to sit then stand, trying my hardest to console her and check she was OK.
"Thank you very much," she said. "All the money I possess is in my purse." It was then she explained about drawing her meagre weekly pension from the in-store ATM, money that would pay her bills, her gas and electricity tokens, her other necessities for the week ahead. She was in shock, clinging to my arm until her breathing returned to normal.
"It was all I could do," I said, "It's a pity they ran off so quickly, though I was more concerned that you had been hurt."
"Thankfully only my dignity," she replied, "And I really must repay you." She pulled her purse from her zipped coat pocket, opening it and offering me a £10 note."
"That's very kind of you," I said, "But you need it more than me." That was true, for even though I wasn't working and myself relied on social security job seeker handouts, she needed her food, heat and other basics.
She probably looked older than she was. Age-wizened face, hair above her lip and on her chin, an ugly blackhead, dark brown half rotted teeth, shabby worn out clothes and shoes and stooped forward from arthritis told a story of a hard, poor life probably home alone in a small, dingy apartment.
I picked up my bike and her two laden carrier bags and walked with her to where the bus would take her home. We chatted for a short while and as the bus appeared in the the distance she offered me money again. I politely refused.
"But I must give you a gift for your selflessness and kindness," she insisted, then before I had chance to react she grabbed my balls through my pants with one hand and covered my eyes with the other. "Power," she said simply, then let go, picked up her bags and motioned the bus to stop.
"What ...?" I began to say but by the time I'd recovered from the flash of crippling pain she had mounted the bus and was on her way.
'What a bitch,' I thought, 'What a way to repay my kindness.'
For an old lady, she had a grip like a Stillson wrench.
I mounted my bike carefully, the pain slowly ebbing away, wondering afterwards why the lady hadn't shopped earlier when more people would have been around. Fortunately the pain didn't last and by the time I was a few streets nearer home the pain was gone. What replaced it though was a kind of ... what? A kind of gentle warmth, a trickle of odd pulses, vibrations; hell it felt like ... like ... like my sister's vibrator that she'd left carelessly in the bathroom one day. I left it alone thinking she'd remember exactly where she'd placed it next to her panties. Panties? Oh yes, my sister is an ace untidy bitch. Luckily for me, oh yes, despite mum's cajoling, big sister Vanessa either leaves stuff scattered on her room carpet or bra, panties and wet towels strewn on the bathroom floor tiles until mum shifts them. My resistance was weak that day and after all of 15 seconds I picked up vibrator and panties.
"You have a brother and a father," mum preached tirelessly and pointlessly because Vanessa rarely listened. "Do you want your panties soaked in cum?" Mum never took any time to come to the point - she was as blunt as a lump of putty. Sexual terminology was never spared; if the phrase "soaked in cum" sufficed then mum knew there was no confusion in Vanessa's mind. Nor did mum skip telling Vanessa that she'd put her vibrator away in her bedside drawer where it belonged.
"As long as that's the closest they get to me, I don't care," big sister would answer, "And don't you ever use yours in the shower?" was Vanessa's one time answer before a very sarcastic reply came from mum's lips. That was the last time I ever saw that piece of energised, polished plastic in the bathroom.
It was only then I realised I'd been barely half concentrating on riding my bike safely through the streets home. Luckily the streets were quiet on that now chilling October evening. Hell, I was rock solid. If my cock had been able to steer it would have done. Past sunset and autumn evenings soon cooled but I was feeling a warmth radiating from my groin. Had that old woman squeezed so hard as to induce a reddening? I didn't know, nor could I get my sister's scent - the imagined scent in my nostrils - to disappear. My brain had honed in on it and memories of the combination of sis's vibrator and my nose glued to that small, fantastically scented piece of gusset cotton just would not go away.
A dog running into the road switched off my auto pilot. The sudden need to swerve and brake brought me back to reality. Thankfully by the time I reached home my love pole was in its normal state of rest.
"Oh, you're back," was Nessie's greeting. Vanessa hated being nick-named after the famous Scottish creature.
"Chill, sis," I snarled, looking her straight in her eyes, "Go to your room and frig yourself."
"Now you two," said mum, "Why can't you be friends for at least five minutes?"
"With him?" snarled Vanessa, "Wannabe ruler of the world?" referring to my passion for world dominance video games. "Anyway, I think I will go upstairs, out of his way."
I faced up to her again, nose almost against nose, "Yes, go frig yourself silly and don't forget to leave your sopping wet panties in the bathroom like you always do."
"Fuck you," she retorted, middle finger raised.
