"Smells Like Teen Incest"
by J.D. Savanyu
Back in grungy 1994, I was a senior at Nottingham High, playing lead guitar and doing lead vocals for a band called "Milk the Cow." Four stupid kids with delusions of Nirvana grandeur. There weren't many clubs to play in Syracuse, so our biggest gig of the year was a pep rally in the school gym. One amplifier and no microphones, so I couldn't sing any lyrics. The rally was just an excuse for the basketball team to show off their dunking talents, and for the cheerleaders to show off their... pom-poms.
"All righty, students! Let's show off our Bulldog pride!" Principal Ward shouted into a microphone. A thousand students cheered as sixteen blue and orange-clad players hit the court. I struck up the band, playing an instrumental version of "Grunge Bitch." The unsung lyrics were twice as dirty as Nirvana's "Polly." (Principal Ward was a forty-something Beatles fan who didn't bother researching Milk the Cow before he let us play there.) My fingers glided gracefully across a Fender fretboard while the ballers tried to dunk like Mike. They paled in comparison to Air Jordan. Not nearly good enough to reach the NBA, getting all their glory in a fading rust belt city.
Not being a basketball fan, my attention was focused on the cheerleaders. Especially Sally Doyle, my gorgeous redhead twin sister. An eighteen year-old senior just like me, turning so many heads. I loved how her big tits bounced up and down and all around, squealing joyfully when Fred Zorn did a reverse windmill jam. Her flaming pigtailed hair clashed nicely with her pale white skin and blue pom-poms. I tried hard not to get a boner in that crowded gym on a sweltering hot afternoon.
"
We got it all together
We're fighting for a win
Nottingham Bulldogs
on top again!"
The basketball team certainly didn't "have it all together." They were dead last in the statewide rankings with two wins and thirty losses, scoring a pathetic average of twenty-nine points per game. The NBA wasn't in the cards for them, but it
was
in the cards for Sally. She had the right look and the right attitude to cheer for the L.A. Lakers. Totally worthy of James Worthy, on the court and in a hot tub. Steamy hardcore whirlpool action, for the win.
Sally had a different boyfriend every week, and she had a major crush on her twin brother
.
A mutually intense infatuation. We lived in a small house three blocks away from the high school, sharing the same small bedroom for nearly two decades. She had the bottom bunk, and I had the top. Being cooped up in tight quarters with the prettiest girl I ever saw was bound to inspire incestuous urges, getting stronger and stronger.
When I turned eighteen, my hormones went into overdrive. Jerking off every single night while picturing Sally naked in a big-ass Bevery Hills hot tub, getting fucked by a bunch of Hollywood celebrities. Spanking her wet heart-shaped ass over and over. I tried hard not to moan or rattle the bunk bed. When I paused and listened hard enough, I could hear her masturbating down below, trying hard not to moan or rattle the bunk bed.
"Let's get physical
Get down, get hard, get mean
Let's get physical
And beat that other team!"
I wished she could beat me off right into her mouth, and slurp my cum like a power shake
.
My perversion reached the boiling point, bubbling over into my songwriting. "Dollhouse Riot" was my finest composition so far. A punkish ode to wild sex, inspired by Nirvana's "Milk It," which also inspired our name. I never told my bandmates that "the dirty twat down the street I wanna eat" was actually my own sister.
Sam Marks attempted a tricky Julius Erving-esque dunk, and failed spectacularly. Embarrassing himself in front of the whole damn school. (Thank god YouTube wasn't around back then, because I would have "gone viral" for all the wrong reasons!) My eyes drifted back to Sally's smiling face. She noticed me staring at her, and returned my gaze with a playful expression. Shaking those big titties in my direction, and kicking those kick-ass legs high in the air. Flashing her little pink panties at me, over and over and over.
God damn, that bitch was driving me crazy. There were still four months until I hit the road to Indiana for my first semester at the Perdue music department... and four months until she went to Perdue on a cheerleading scholarship! We were utterly inseparable, magnetically drawn to each other while running through an endless maze of dead-end "lovers." Sally was also a big Nirvana fan (like every moody white teenager in the whole fucking world.) She kept raving about how "crazy cool" Kurt Cobain was, and how she wished "that bitchy wannabe punk" Courtney Love would drop dead, so she could marry her drug-addled obsession.
Two other cheerleaders tossed her high in the air as I pounded out a grunge soundtrack. My mind drifted back to my last girlfriend. Gabrielle Tinto broke up with me four days ago, and I dearly missed her amazing blowjobs and energetic cowgirl fucking (after she stimulated my mind with physics tutoring.) She was also a cute redhead with very pullable pigtails, but not nearly as cute as Sally.
A crazy idea popped into my crazy mind. Something I dreamed about ever since
Nevermind
invaded the airwaves and CD shelves. Before I knew it, my fingers were playing the iconic opening notes of "Smells Like Teen Spirit." That song wasn't part of our set list for the pep rally, so the rest of Milk the Cow looked at me awkwardly. But they soon joined in, pounding drums and burning axes in a blaze of glory.
Sally's jaw dropped open in pleasant surprise, then she danced giddily to that teen angst anthem. The student body cheered loudly and started moshing in the bleachers, spilling onto the court. Just like Nirvana's breakthrough MTV video from the summer of '91 (except the cheerleaders weren't wearing black tank tops with red anarchy symbols and bitchin' tattoos all over their arms and legs.) The horrified expression on Principal Ward's face was priceless, watching his students devolve into stark raving lunatics.
It was like an out-of-body experience. Definitely the best moment of my hazy high school days. I belted out the lyrics with no microphone, drowned out by a thousand disillusioned teens getting their freak on.
"
With the lights out, this is dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
I feel stupid, and contagious
Here we are now, ENTERTAAAAAIN US! YEEEEAH!"
Sally went crazy on the sidelines, thrashing like a howler monkey. Her big boobies nearly popped out of her blue-and-orange cheerleader dress. John-John Williams XXIV (just as crazy as his name would suggest) crowd-surfed across the court, then he leaped high in the air and hung on the orange metal rim of a basketball hoop. We skipped the melodic interlude and kept pumping out the aggressive power chords. Principal Ward desperately wriggled through a writhing mass of humanity. A bunch of guys lifted him up in the air, and everyone else crowd-surfed him unwillingly. Laughing loudly while moshing their brains out. They dropped him off near the bandstand, and then he literally ripped our guitar cords out of the amp.
"
Awwwwww
!" everyone groaned.
"This pep rally is
over!
" the principal shouted angrily. "For the love of god, show some respect for my alma mater!"
We left the gym in a buzzed haze, getting praised and patted on the back by all the cool kids. Stepping out to the parking lot on a blazing spring afternoon, we got mobbed by the cute cheerleaders. Sally leaped into my arms and kissed me on both cheeks.
"That was
awesome
, Jerry! Fucking bad-ass! You'll be the next Kurt Cobain, for sure!" she beamed, teasing her long red pigtails.
"I doubt it. Every fucking city is full of Kurt Cobain wannabes."
"But you're the best one," she beamed, tussling my shaggy blonde hair. "You really brought out my teen spirit."
"Smells like Calvin Klein perfume," I remarked. That gorgeous ginger gazed at me longingly with big green Irish eyes.
"Come on, little brother. Let's go home and do a little... rehearsing."
She led me downhill to Meadowbrook Road, with my school books and guitar case strapped to my back. A babbling stream in the middle of the road had a nice soothing effect. Reeling with adrenalin after that spontaneous moshing frenzy, with echoes from the amplifier ringing in my head.
"What do you mean, 'rehearsing?'"
"You'll see," she giggled sweetly. We walked through a quiet semi-suburban neighborhood, with many other Bulldogs heading home. Listening to music on their Walkmans and flaunting grunge/goth/gangsta fashion statements. (Flannel shirts used to be worn only by lumberjacks and lame dorks, until Mister Cobain came along.) We turned left on Harrington Road, heading uphill toward our little green house.
"Mom and Dad won't be home till eight o'clock tonight," I said. "The salt factory is installing some new equipment."
"Lucky for us," Sally replied seductively.
"What you mea--"
She put her fingers on my lips, silencing them. "Shut that big mouth, Jerry. I got a big surprise for you."
Holy shit. Was this the "surprise" I desperately wished for?
I marched eagerly to the doorstep of 314 Harrington. She fumbled distractedly through her pink purse, pulling out a ring of keys, jamming one of them through the deadbolt lock. I took three steps inside, then she slammed the door behind me, shoved me against it, and kissed me passionately. Oh my god, oh my god! My dick sprang instantly to a full seven inches, pressing against her blue-and-orange cheerleader dress. My wildest fantasies poured in a thrilling torrent. She pulled back twenty seconds later, gasping throatily.
"Oh
fuuuuck
," Sally groaned. "I need you
sooo
bad."
"You took the words right out of my mouth, sis."
I shoved her busty body against my lean lanky body, and shoved my tongue down her throat. It was all happening so fast, giving us no time to think. Pure animal lust took complete control in the heat of the moment. Our hearts beat frantically, desperate for fulfillment. Repressed desire screamed in my brain like a grunge rock anthem. She finally pulled back with another throaty gasp.
"Get naked, Jerry. We're gonna have a nice long 'after school special.'"
"Fuck yeah," I groaned. I quickly removed the overpriced pre-ripped trendy outfit that I bought at Shoppingtown Mall. Sally yanked down my boxer shorts and whistled at my Free Willy.
"Nice dick, little brother," she beamed.
"I"m your
big
brother, bitch!" I grunted, getting into my usual aggressive sexual character. "Take off that stupid cheerleader outfit."
"Yes sir, Mister Doyle," Sally giggled. Her tight blue-and-orange uniform and pink bra soon hit the floor, revealing a better pair of breasts than I ever saw in Playboy, Penthouse, Hustler, or late night "Skinemax" movies. 100% natural ginger perfection, like Julia Roberts in her prime.
"Get those little slut panties
off!
"
"Yes sir!" she giggled. Those skanky drawers went right to the floor, revealing a nice red triangle between her wide child-bearing hips.
"God damn, you're the hottest girl in Onondaga County."
"And you're the cutest jerk in upstate New York."
She dropped to her knees on a cheap brown rug, and shoved my throbbing teen dick through her bright red lips.
"Holy
shiiit
," I groaned triumphantly. The intense illicit thrill of committing incest, enhanced by the fear of getting caught if our parents came home early from the salt factory where they earned a "salt salary." Sally rocked her red head slowly back and forth, sucking hard and moaning softly. I felt so good with my cock so deep in her hot mouth.
"Just like that, you dirty ginger skank. You wanna fuck Kurt Cobain so bad, but you have to settle for your grungy brother."
She giggled against my man-meat, then she twisted her head up and down the shaft, moaning loudly against my meat. Definitely better than Gabrielle's blowjobs; having practiced on many more guys. I willed myself to hold back my load as long as possible, savoring every microsecond.
"Suck my balls," I grunted. She kept bobbing her head up and down my dick, so I grabbed her red head and yanked it off. "I said suck 'em, bitch!"
She jammed both my hairy balls all the way into her mouth, slurping noisily on the fleshy folds.
"Fuck yeah. You like my balls better than those Air Jordan wannabes."
She giggled against my sack, then she pulled back, ejecting them from her mouth with a funny
