Disclaimer:
All persons involved in any sexual situation are 18 years of age or more. The following story is pure fantasy.
*****
My sister was born six weeks premature, prior to my first birthday, and weighed in at just over four pounds. My mom named her Dorothy after my great-aunt but everyone calls her Dottie. Because Dorothy is not an embarrassing enough name for a young girl. It was a great homage, though; Aunt Dorothy is a great lady. She is one of the most amazing women I know. Smart as a whip and, even in her 60's, was still a beautiful woman. There was even a family tale that in the 1970's she slept with George Harrison of the Beatles. When this came up in conversation, Aunt Dorothy would vehemently deny it but Uncle Paul would shrug his shoulders and wink at us.
Dottie was always small. When she reached her full height she was a shade over five feet, with her tennies on. She was an adorable child, full of energy and sweet as sugar. She seemed to never be sad or angry or impatient, even into her teen years. She was always smiling but with a look that made one wonder what was going on behind those gorgeous gray eyes. She was also a gifted athlete, excelling in gymnastics. She was a winner. One day, out of the blue, she told us that she didn't want to do gymnastics anymore. She wanted new challenges.
Puberty was very kind to Dottie, at least for the observer. Despite her small stature, she was blessed with, shall we say "healthy" breasts. On a normal-sized girl they would probably be, well, normal. But on my sister they looked huge. I think for awhile she was embarrassed by them and she did her best to cover them when she was younger but embraced them a little more as she grew older. I would love to say that I was immune to her charms but that would be a lie. Five feet tall, amazing gray eyes, soft brown hair, a round bottom that I would have paid money to kiss (even now I get butterflies thinking of it), and those boobs. Oh lord.
She always looked good but when Bikini Season came around I was done for. My hormones would go into overdrive and I would have to ramp up my masturbation schedule. My parents were pretty cool and understanding but it just wouldn't do to be walking around with a hard-on all day. I certainly didn't want to have to explain that to Mom and Dad. And with Dottie around, who needed to watch porn? I feel bad debasing her like that, as if she was doing something to elicit a perverted response from me. But she was just being Dottie. Beautiful, sweet, smiling Dottie. With startlingly large boobs.
She did walk in on me masturbating once. I had just stepped out of the shower when the urge hit me. And we certainly can't hold on to those urges, can we? I just stood in the bathroom and stroked. I closed my eyes and leaned against the counter. I was in the home-stretch, so to speak, when Dottie walked in. My eyes flew open to see her standing in the doorway wearing pajama shorts, a tee that showed a couple inches of her flat stomach, and a look of surprise and dismay.
"Dottie!" I screamed, turning quickly away.
"Gah!" she responded. "Peter, I am so sorry! I thought you were done!"
I almost was,
I thought. My dick was still in my hand but had become a little shy. I looked sideways into the foggy bathroom mirror and I swear she was looking at my butt.
"Why are you still here?" I asked, embarrassed to be standing naked in front of my little sister.
She turned her head and covered her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Peter," she repeated. "I just came in to pee. I thought you were already out of the bathroom." She lifted her hand ever so slightly. "Please don't be mad." She turned and left. In the hallway, she whispered loud enough for me to hear, "And don't be embarrassed. Everybody does it. Like, almost literally, everybody."
Yeah but not in front of their little sister.
No family is immune to sadness and death and the pain that comes with it. Dottie and I had another sister, eight years older than me. Her name was Meghan and she died at the age of 12 from leukemia. She had fought it bravely for four years but ultimately she lost that battle. I have very few memories of her, aside from fractured and fuzzy ones from her various stays in the hospital. According to mom Meghan was a sweet but quiet girl, very cerebral, with her nose frequently in books. I was also told that she was gorgeous and this was confirmed from the many photos we had of her.
My mom was obviously profoundly affected by the loss of her oldest child and occasionally struggled to give all proper focus to Dottie and I. She was not unpleasant, just frequently distant and unengaged. When I was about 14 mom began to act very strangely. She would frequently talk to herself and not respond to questions. It was easy to attribute that to preoccupation or perhaps lingering effects of the loss of Meghan but eventually she was diagnosed with schizophrenia. She went to counseling and took medication for it but her condition quickly began to deteriorate. One day my dad woke up to find my mom gone. We searched everywhere for her, as a family and with the police involved. There was, of course an investigation and there was found no sign of foul play. She was just gone. Six months later she was found dead in an abandoned building in Trenton, New Jersey, 500 miles away. She had died of starvation and it was believed she spent her last days alone, but for the voices in her head.
Again, our family had to recover from sadness and loss.
Two weeks after I began my freshman year at Ohio State my father passed away from an aortic aneurysm at the age of 44. It was later found that he had Marfan Syndrome. He had all the signs for it: he was very tall (about 6'7") and had very long fingers and toes. We just missed the signs.
Again, our family had to recover from sadness and loss. But this time it left Dottie and me alone. My Aunt Dorothy quickly stepped up to the plate and was a great help and support. She became our guardian and arranged for my sister and I to be able to stay in our home. It was an extremely rough time for me and there were moments when I thought there was no way I could carry on with a normal life. But Aunt Dorothy helped down the road of recovery. And then there was Dottie. She was also affected by the loss of our parents but she always recovered quickly and would soon have that smile back. I knew that I could always depend on Dottie's strength and she never failed to be there in my weakest moments.
Life soon began to return to normalcy and routine. I missed most of my first semester because of my dad's passing and all the emotion and chaos that followed but I vowed to stick with it and restarted for the Spring semester. It was great to be able to do it in my hometown of Columbus, Ohio. It was convenient, as I didn't want to leave Dottie during her last year of high school. We of course were still in our childhood home which my sister always made sure was immaculately clean, which is great because I've always been a bit of a slob.
While schoolwork was always a struggle for me and required a lot of hard work, it always came natural to Dottie. She seemed to effortlessly get great grades. She had already received offers for academic scholarship to outstanding schools such as Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Stanford, and even good old Ohio State. It was not uncommon for me to be burning the midnight oil, working on some assignment or other, while Dottie was long done with her work. This meant she would occasionally get bored and come invade my room as I attempted to get my work done. Usually she would just sit on my bed and listen to my music or pick up my guitar and idly strum it but sometimes she would want to talk, which of course would make my work take twice as long.
One day, in the beginning of May, Dottie strolled quietly into my room and sat on my bed. I tried my best to ignore her, as I was trying to study for finals. She remained quiet and just flipped casually through my Sports Illustrated that was sitting next to her. She politely cleared her throat and I glanced up at her. She didn't say anything, just sat there holding the magazine with a glorious smile on her face. She was wearing a long T-shirt, half-way to her knees that said "Buckeye for Life", stretched perfectly across her breasts. It was very plain but she somehow made it look amazing. She had had that shirt for years and it now didn't fit her as loosely as it once had. I strained to look her in the eye and smile without glancing down at her breasts. She didn't say anything so I looked back down at my Biology textbook but it was too late. My brain was full of images of Dottie.
"Did you need something, Dottie?" I asked without looking up.
She sighed. "Not really, I'm just bored. Am I bugging you?"
"Well, kind of. It's okay though. Got finals soon so I just need to get some studying done. Some of us need to work harder at it than a Brainiac like you."
Dottie laughed softly. "It's not all easy for me. I have to study too sometimes. High school is easier than college, I'm assuming." She glanced at the book on my desk. "Biology? How hard can that be? You took it in 10
th
grade. Paramecia are still paramecia and corpuscles are still corpuscles, right? It can't be that hard." She stood up and walked over to my desk and flipped through the book. "You've done all this before. You're just overthinking it, making it harder than it needs to be." As she stood next to me I glanced sideways at the perfect curve of her butt, just a foot to my left. It was beautiful and round but with no unwanted fat. I so desperately wanted to reach over and caress it.
I could smell her clean scent; she had just gotten out of the shower and smelled like raspberries. Her brown hair was still damp and hung down straight to the middle of her back. As she stood over my desk, her knee brushed my leg like a whisper, which sent butterflies raging in my stomach.
"Sorry. I'll just let you do your homework then." I expected her to leave my room but she just went back and sat on my bed, flipping idly through my magazine. I glanced back just as she was crossing her legs. So close...Jesus, I needed to get laid!
