My parents were married fairly young. They met at their local church when they auditioned for the choir. My father is a baritone, while my mother is favored with a soft sweet mezzo. They both work, have an attractive home and all the usual possessions, which, by today's standards, indicate success.
At 28, after nine years of happy marriage, she was childless. Questions were asked, tests made and specialists consulted, resulting in a unanimous opinion. All was normal with both and there was no apparent physical reason for this inability to conceive. Certainly, it was not for the lack of trying, as my mother shyly assured us a later time.
After much discussion they decided to adopt and with the help of our doctor and the church associates, the were blessed with a two year old girl, Jill, whose parents died in a car crash, leaving her an orphan with no relatives willing or able to accept the responsibility of an infant girl. I was born eighteen months later!
My parents were delighted, and being bible oriented, chose a biblical name, Matthew; Matt. As I grew older, though I was not overjoyed by this archaic appellation, I comforted myself with the thought of Ezekiah?, Zacharia? The names that parents bestow on their defenseless offspring can markedly influence the pattern of their future life.
We had a happy life, with my wonderful parents taking great pains to ensure that both children received equal love and attention. Apparently this was easy with Jill, for she was a very appealing, almost angelic youngster, whilst I was less so. At fourteen, Jill was taller and more athletic than I at ten.At sixteen, she was tomboyish, irritating and the same height as I at twelve.
At eighteen, her fairy godmother had replaced her with this shapely, vivacious beauty. We were now about the same height, with me being skinny and bespectacled, where she was literally the belle of the ball, with a different boyfriend every day. Or so it seemed to me, suffering as I was with the stings of jealousy.
The years passed. She grew more beautiful every day, while I grew taller, huskier and shed my spectacles. She was more into athletics and I became active in car racing and repairs. A eighteen, I was now more interested in girls and I was more than a little ashamed of myself when I realized that my interest in Jill was becoming increasingly less brotherly!
I began to lay in wait for her to come out of the bathroom after her shower, praying each day that she would not completely close her robe. I particularly thrilled to see her coming down the stairs on her way to tennis. She favored short mid-thigh skirts or dresses and brief frilly panties. I don't know what effect these had on the defenseless boys she played. I only know how they affected me. Seeing her legs disappear under that tantalizingly swaying skirt with an occasional glimpse of that triangle of taunting lacy material between her legs had the inevitable result. She obviously saw me at the bottom of the stairs and I could only hope that the way I stood hid the visible evidence of her presence while I waited for her to leave so that I could dash up to my room and do what was necessary. Sometimes I became so excited I didn't make it in time!
She continued to arouse me each time I saw her, but I now had my own girl friends and was able to get my own relief elsewhere. She actually joshed me one time when she was going out, dressed in that familiar exciting manner.
"Hi Matt, don't see you waiting at the stairs or the shower these days. Lost interest?"
Now that did leave me speechless!!
We usually chatted easily and amicably about all things. She even confided in me her opinions of some of the boys she met. After all, she had been my babysitter may times when our parents had gone to evening practice or their other abiding passion. Bridge.
She was obviously only too aware of my non-brotherly interest in her, and I felt uncomfortable when I realized that she had undoubtedly seen the all too noticeable bulge in my pants as awaited each glimpse of her in, I hoped, a revealing robe or dress.
I didn't know that on her seventeenth birthday she had been told of her adoption. She accepted what had happened, without tears, and regularly paid her respects to the burial place of her natural parents. Our parents had been meticulous in devoting equal affection to both of us, and after the initial shock, all went on as before. I did not know until I was sixteen and Anne twenty. By that time she was engaged and married later that year.
I knew of the guy she chose and was not pleased that he won my sister. Yes, my sister, for that is how I did and will always think of her. He had a reputation as a skirt chaser and had been picked up twice for drunk driving. However, it was her choice so I held my tongue and trusted her judgment. She was back home after fifteen months, suing for divorce. The reason? adultery. By that time I was nineteen, just under six feet, well built and with a burning desire to tear his liver out.
Jill was experienced as a legal secretary, and with her talent, good looks and irrepressible good humor, quickly became independent again, and only stayed at home due to our parents wish that she did so. She returned to her love of tennis and other sports, but I was careful not to resume my previous habit of voyeurism
I was now twenty, studying engineering and working part time at a garage that specialized in rebuilding vintage cars. I found that I somehow had a talent for older engines, and became much in demand with the many old car enthusiasts. I knew even then how my future would develop.
Early one Saturday evening, I was working at home on a Webber carburetor when the front door bell disturbed me. My parents were at the bridge club, Jill at the tennis club and I particularly wished to complete this repair for a rally to be held the next day.
Opening the door, I was shocked to see Jill, pale, wincing at each movement and supported by one of her fellow players who had driven her home. I thanked him for his considerate action and without hesitation scooped her up in my arms, carried her into the living room and laid her on the couch. I so busy being worried about her and cursing her for not going directly to the hospital that I didn't stop to consider that she was wearing her usual short dress and it was high up around her hips with her panties in full view. When I paused in my tirade to finally appreciate how she looked, my reaction was immediate and physical. Here was my dear sister, obviously in pain and all I could think of was how incredibly sexy she looked.
She saw my condition, smiled, made no effort to rearrange her dress and simply tried to roll over onto her tummy, generating a squawk of pain as she did so.
"Give me a hand Matt." She asked.
"Why the hell didn't you go to the hospital, you may have broken something." I yelled, more in concern than anger.
"No, brother dear,' she chided, " I haven't broken anything. This has happened before. It's painful, but not serious. I have just pulled a muscle in my thigh. The result of trying to stop, twist, jump and volley, all at the same time. A little massage, some heat and rest and all will be well. So, how about helping your ever loving Sis?"
"If your' sure that there is nothing more serious, then, of course, I will do anything I can. Just tell me what you want me to do."
"That's better," she winced. "Help me to roll over and then I will instruct you how to ease this pain." I did so, eliciting more cries of discomfort and the request that I roll her back again.
"That's no good." She cried, and I could see the tears in her eyes. "I need to be flat, on a bed. This couch is too soft. Can you get me to my room if I hop on one leg?"
"That could be fun, going up the steps." I replied, trying hard not to laugh in relief. " There's only six steps, so I have a better idea." Before she could object, I picked her up and had her on her bed, rolled her over and asked what to do next.
"Hell"s Bells Matt," she shouted, half laughing and half crying. "I can remember when I could pick you up and put you to bed. This is just right. Now. Help me to remove my dress. Kneel on the bed with my left leg between yours and I want you to massage the back of my thigh from just above the knee up to my hip. Put both hands around my leg and press your thumbs into me and massage the muscles a few seconds, then move higher and carry on."
I did as she instructed, kneading her muscles, making her yelp as I did so. But, with no pleas to refrain, I slowly progressed up her thigh till I reached the edge of her panties. By this time, with the feel of her soft, warm, velvet thigh in my hands my thoughts were straying into dangerous territory and my cock was responding in it's own predictable way.
I was as hard as a rock, and without knowing it, and due to my having to lean over, it was digging into her as I moved up her leg. I felt her shake and eased the pressure, not aware that she was holding in her laughter as she understood what was happening. I stopped at her panties and made to start again. "No." she instructed. "Go up further, right into my hip joint. Pull my panties down so you can apply the full effect to my flesh. Pull them right off if you can."
"Are you sure you want me to do this?" I stammered.
"Matt, you've been trying to look up my skirt since for a long time, so why be bashful now. Take them off, damn it."
I was more than happy to obey. I commenced the slow progression up her lovely thigh until I was almost touching her nether lips and again paused. She reached around and urged me on to apply the healing probing up into the hip joint. The top of my inner hand was now hard on her pussy and as I used my thumbs to relax her body, I was also vibrating her clitoris.
"Oh yes, Matt, that's the spot. Keep working there."
I could not be sure which action she was applauding, but it didn't matter. I continued the good work and felt her move her uninjured leg to give me space to move a tad higher. I did so, continued the manipulation and deliberately raised my fingers to stroke her lips, finding and stimulating her moist button.
"MMMmmm," she intoned. "That's nice Matt, but let's concentrate on the massage please. Start again and do the whole thing two more times and I should be OK. Your third thumb feels even harder than the others! Unhook my bra so that I can be completely comfortable."
I did as ordered; she shrugged out of her bra and it joined her panties on the floor. I then repeated the massage, each time ensuring that I applied my hands as before, reveling in the touch of her now relaxing body.
"Is that now sufficient, or do you need any more?"
"That is great. I feel so much better and while I have no objection to you carrying on, I think it would be more for your pleasure than my need! Just let me turn over and get comfy." And turn over she did, quite unconcerned that she was stark naked and that seeing her thus prompted my erection to become even more pronounced.
