This is another slow burn. It takes time to develop characters. With the sex also progressing slowly, at least at first. If that's not for you, I suggest you click away now
My parents got divorced when I was 8. My older sister wanted to stay with my Mum. Whilst, surprisingly for those times, I chose to live with my Dad. For a few years we muddled along together until, when I was 11, he met and moved in with his new partner, Jayne.
It was, as is almost invariably the case, a difficult transition for us all. But I grew very fond of Jayne. My Mother (and my sister) had been a little brash and forward. Whilst my Dad was calmer, serious and much more reserved. And I was, in many ways, a carbon copy of him.
Jayne was a much better fit for my Dad. And, as I came to realise, probably for me too. She was quiet, almost diffident. Dressing and acting very conservatively.
So, at the age of 18, in my final year of school, I was happy and contented (though sexually frustrated) with our current living arrangements. Certainly happier than I'd been when my parents had been constantly rowing a decade or so ago.
I went to an All Boys grammar school in our small town. It selected on academic achievement. So it probably contained more than it's fair share of studious, socially awkward, pupils. But, even by those standards, I was an outlier.
I was in the top 10% academically. But in the top 1% for shyness and clumsiness around girls. I loved the opposite sex. But I had absolutely no idea how to talk to them. Probably because I had absolutely no confidence at all in my physical, or particularly social, prowess.
Jayne came with a "plus 1". She had a daughter, Sally, her only child from her previous marriage.
Sally fitted in well to our rather dull quartet. She went to the equivalent All Girls grammar school. Sally was just a few months younger than me and we were in the same school year.
Probably taking a lead from her Mum, Sally did nothing at all to enhance her looks. Her dark, almost raven black, hair had a corkscrew perm. And huge, "milk bottle top" spectacles. Both of which, looking back on, even years later, she still cringes about. Her skin was pale and (unlike my acne scarred complexion) almost perfect. But, because her hair was so dark (and as I was to discover she was quite hirsute) it showed on her arms and legs. Which I came to realise she was really embarrassed about. All of that said, strip away the dodgy perm, glasses and unwanted hair and beneath it I suspected (and subsequently came to discover) she really was extremely attractive.
What she did have, though also did her best to hide, was an absolutely killer body. Partly genetics I guess. But also, in large part, down to the hours she spent swimming competitively each week.
I can clearly recall going to see Sally in a swimming gala. As she stripped off her tracksuit and took her place on the starting blocks at poolside I was astonished how shapely and womanly she looked. Everyone competing was fit. But I honestly thought Sally had the best body of them all.
Whilst we were not blood relatives, the character similarities between us were uncanny. Sally was bookish, extremely clever and hard working. She also, like me, seemed to lack any confidence about her looks. And was painfully shy with boys. So there were certainly no boyfriends on the scene. In fact, she seemed to have few close friends at all. The two of us, I'm afraid to say, were rather "grey" characters. Largely in the background, certainly in social settings.
Consequently, we became very close. Certainly Sally was the only girl I ever had any meaningful conversations with. Though even these were usually connected with schoolwork, politics and hobbies. I don't recall in those teen years that we ever shared any confidences in each other.
But, clumsy social oaf that I was, I really enjoyed her company. And, I was pretty sure, she mine. We spent more time with each other than we did with anyone else. And there was a comfort between us. And, I felt, a warmth. Though that was entirely unsaid. And certainly not demonstrable.
I'd come to realise that her Mum and my Dad getting together, and consequently her moving in with us, was the best thing that had happened to me in my pretty featureless life so far.
Late one afternoon Sally and I were home together, before our respective parents got home from work. It was a little unusual for us to be around at the same time. As, typically, one or both of us would be in some after school activity.
I wasn't especially coordinated, or sporty. But I was a strong runner and was often doing cross-country. For both the school and the local Harriers athletic club. Sally, meanwhile, as I commented above, was an excellent swimmer. And several mornings and some evenings, went to swim club.
But, many (in fact all) of our other activities were geeky. For example, chess club, debating society, Oxbridge application preparation etc. We really were a spectacularly nerdy pair.
That afternoon Sally had changed out of her school uniform and put on a tracksuit and a tee shirt. The tee shirt was long and baggy. But the tracksuit bottoms were tight, figure hugging in fact. Though the tee shirt, frustratingly I was almost surprised to admit, was so long that it pretty much covered her buttocks. Though, every now and again it would ride up. Providing a view of her spectacularly tight buns.
Over the last few months I'd become increasingly aware of the excellence of Sally's figure. Not that she did anything to showcase it. Quite the opposite in fact.
We were in the kitchen, which looked out on to our small back garden. This backed on to fields and the edge of a wood. So we regularly had myriad birds flying in and out of it. Attracted by the nuts and scraps we put out for them.
As further evidence of our bookish tendencies, we took delight in identifying the multiple species that visited. And had purchased a few textbooks to help us do this. Looking back it really is hard to imagine any ways we could have been more nerdy. With trainspotting about the only "geeky" pursuit we didn't practice!
"Look, Jack, I think there's a pied flycatcher," Sally exclaimed. "That's the first of those I've ever seen."
Leaning over the sink to give herself a better view out of the window, she called me over. As she did, her tee shirt rode up and I had an uninterrupted view of her arse. Albeit, fully dressed of course. But it just looked
so
perfect and inviting.
I stood side by side with Sally, craning to get a better view of this rare species. Our hips were touching and I put a hand on her back to steady myself, as I bent forward to get the best view of it.
To this day, I've no idea what prompted me - or gave me the courage - to do what I did next. Apart from, I guess, the hormones that were raging inside me.
But, as I observed this small bird, nibbling on our garden treats, I moved my hand down and started to cup Sally's buttocks. Gently and tentatively at first. But, clearly, it was a sexual act. Particularly as I got a little bolder.
Nowadays, in the age of Me Too, I wonder if I'd have been prepared to take that risk? Though I guess with the amount of misogynistic porn that's available, I may have been more influenced the other way. And been a little more forceful?
Either way, that point is moot. As there I was, with my hand caressing (if you were being kind) or clumsily groping (if you were being more accurate) my step-sister's arse. And it really did seem to be a very fine arse indeed. Though, at that time, I had absolutely nothing to compare it to.
Sally froze. But said, or did, nothing to stop me. Though, and I wondered if I was imagining this, I thought I heard her gasp. Albeit almost imperceptibly. I also wondered if it were my imagination, but she seemed to lean a little closer to me.
After what seemed like several minutes, but was probably no more than 30 seconds, my nerve failed me. And I, albeit reluctantly, pulled my hand away.
I'd said nothing so far. In fact I was, initially, incapable of speech. My mouth was dry and my heart was pumping. I turned and prepared to race to my room in shock and embarrassment. But, looking back at Sally, I finally found my voice. Stuttering out, in an unbelievably gauche way.
