The title of this story is a line from a poem, "This Be the Verse," written by Philip Larkin (1922-1985).
I have never written in this category before and was surprised at how much I enjoyed doing it.
I would like to thank my wife and our girlfriend who provided good advice.
All the protagonists are over eighteen years of age. None of the characters depicted are real and any similarity to real places or people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Please comment and score. Any constructive criticism, positive or negative is welcome.
As always, any errors in editing are mine and mine alone.
They Fuck You Up Your Mum and Dad
My relationship with my younger sister is not normal. By that, I do not mean that we are simply incestuous. Far from it. We are both good friends and highly sexed women who love men and one another. Since her eighteenth birthday, my sister has fucked nearly every one of my boyfriends. I have a motto, "Love me, love my sister."
***
If this is not normal, then our upbringing was not exactly normal either. My father was a strict, rigid, and controlling man and my mother drank too much. In retrospect, I think that was because of him.
My father had no family living in the UK, having moved here from Canada in his youth, and he discouraged my mother from contacting her mother who lived in Glasgow. My mother's father died in the late nineties of some type of cancer, and she was estranged from her only sister. I never met either of them. For the first sixteen tears of my life, my family was my little world. My father did not have any friends that I knew of, and he did not encourage any of us to have them either.
He was a bank manager in the small northern English town where we lived whilst my mother did not work outside the home. The only person I ever saw them talk to was the local vicar after the weekly Sunday church service that we attended as a family. We always arrived at the church just before the service started and sat away from the rest of the congregation at the back of the small church. We left without talking to others.
I was a very lonely child. When I was young, and before Laura was born, I had no friends or other children to play with. After she was born, three years after me, I had no contact with other children until I started school. Even then, I was discouraged from making any close friends and never allowed to bring friends from school to the house. Life at home was highly regimented and we lived by a strict set of rules with fixed meals and bedtimes. My father ruled our home with a rod of iron. There was a long list of dos and don'ts, and we soon learned that it was easier to do as we were told. Up until each one of us was eight years old, transgressions resulted in a bare-bottom spanking from my father. After that, my mother was given the duty and used a switch in private.
My father would scrutinise our end-of-term reports and heaven help us if he ever read the words, "Could try harder." The result of this was that I studied hard and was always top of my class.
I was very close to my sister. We shared our infancy and then our teenage years and confided all our secrets and desires to one another - not that there was much to share. Make-up, going out, parties, and boys were forbidden in the world in which we lived. Neither of us had a mobile phone or a games console and use of the family computer was strictly monitored and only for schoolwork. Up until I was sixteen years old, I accepted that my family was different to that of my schoolmates. It was only then that I started to wonder.
***
Things might have turned out differently if, in May 2009, my father had not died. He was only forty-eight years old and ten years older than my mother when he passed and appeared to be in perfect health when he suffered a massive heart attack and died on the spot. He had been a heavy smoker, and my mother told me both his parents had suffered heart attacks at an early age.
My life changed virtually overnight. Free of his overpowering and malignant presence I was able to spread my wings. Slowly at first, and then more rapidly, I started to explore the outside world. In July, accompanied by two schoolmates, I went to the cinema for the first time to see the new Harry Potter film. I had watched a few of the earlier films on television and read the books so I was able to understand the plot fairly well. I stayed out the first time and came home late.
My mother was very worried and angry but there was little she could do since I was no longer scared of her and in any case, she had also been drinking when I arrived home and was drunk. The following morning, we sat at the breakfast table and talked. It was then that she reluctantly apologised for not standing up to my abusive father and I realised that she had been a victim too.
After that, my life improved immeasurably and slowly became normal. I went out with my friends, stayed overnight at their houses, and they came to our house. I attended my first school disco - supervised by the teachers, of course. My mother had bought me new clothes and I wore make-up. It was a moment of real excitement when I persuaded my mother to buy me an iPhone for my seventeenth birthday. In short, I came out of my shell.
It was around that time that I started to realise how different my sister and I were. Whilst I was able to shake off the ghost of my father, Laura's life did not change. She did not take the opportunity to make new friends or go out, but remained quiet and introverted, preferring to keep her own company, although we still found time to talk for many hours during the week. She remained my best friend.
It might have been expected that my father's death would have caused my mother money problems, but nothing was further from the truth. He had been an extremely astute investor and left a valuable portfolio of shares, cash in the bank, and a bank pension, had insured his life for several hundred thousand pounds, and the mortgage was paid off. With all her children at school, my mother took a part-time job in a bakery four hours a day, not because she needed the money, but to get out of the house, meet people, and rebuild her life. She was only thirty-eight years old and was a very attractive woman in the prime of life.
***
When I was eighteen I went to University to study physics. It was there that, in my second term, I lost my virginity. It was not the most sexually arousing experience of my life. Grant, my first boyfriend, was a virgin too, but he got the job done before I finished with him the following Easter.
My second boyfriend was Matt, an American postgrad student on an exchange programme from a Midwest University. It was never going to be a long-term thing but that wasn't what either of us wanted. We both wanted a body to fuck, and it was Matt who taught me the ins and outs (forgive the pun) of fucking - blow jobs, titjobs, cunnilingus, sixty-nine, and every position you can think of - we did them all. I learnt that I was multiorgasmic and that I loved sex. Quite maliciously, I hoped that my father was looking down on me and cursing at what his "whore of a daughter" was up to.
Matt taught me something else. He gave me the confidence to believe in myself. He was forever telling me how desirable and beautiful I was, but I never believed him. One Sunday afternoon after an extremely satisfying fuck he led me, both of us still naked, to stand in front of the mirror.
"What do you see?" he asked.
"You and I."
"Stop being clever."
"OK, two naked people."
"Now look at the woman. Beautiful with dark hair and big brown eyes, Great figure with perfect arse and tits. You can't see it, but she is kind, intelligent, good company, and great in the sack. You have it all."
He paused, serious for a moment.
"When we met I only saw how beautiful you were on the outside. It's going to be very hard to leave you and go back to the States."
"It's 4200 miles and at least two plane flights to Kansan City and neither of us will finish our studies for two years or longer. Realistically, neither of us will stay celibate that long. I know I won't. I'm sorry, Matt, we will be finished when you leave."
Matt nodded sadly.
"You're right. I was just saying."
I decided to change the subject, as I turned and padded back to the bed.
"If you think I'm pretty, you should see my sister. Better figure and much prettier than me."
Wow. How old is she?
"Sixteen and too young for you. She's never had a boyfriend."
***
That evening, as I lay beside Matt's sleeping form, I lay awake thinking. I realised that he cared for me more than I cared for him, and just for a moment, I felt a pang of guilt and sympathy before I put it away. He had known the score when he started dating me. I had never promised him anything.
More importantly, I was beginning to understand that even if I was not as beautiful as Matt considered, I was attractive enough to attract as many men as I wanted. Getting fucked was never likely to be a problem.
My thoughts turned to my sister. She was undeniably more beautiful than me but so quiet and shy, and she did not know or care to make herself look her best. She was virtually incapable of dealing with strangers and I wondered how she would ever meet a decent man - let alone fuck one.
The following weekend I went home to see Laura, During term time I tried to see her every three to four weeks and we spoke on the phone regularly. She always wanted to know how I was doing and what was happening in my life but on this occasion was particularly interested in my sex life. How many times a week? Did I orgasm more than once? How long was Matt's dick? Did we do oral? What did sperm taste like?
My little sister was growing up.
***
Towards the end of my second year at University, Matt returned to Kansas. For the next year, I had several boyfriends but nothing serious. I was too busy studying for my final exams. I had a provisional offer to stay in the Physics Department after graduation and continue to study for a doctorate. My grant would be for three years.
In the meantime, Laura had decided to study chemistry at university and predictably wanted to be near me for her studies. My mother thought this was a good idea.
"I'm not sure she could cope on her own," she said. "You can keep an eye on her and help her to adapt to life away from home.."
It was a no-brainer. Laura and I needed a place to live for the next three years, and my mother had money to invest. She bought us a three-bedroom semi on the outskirts of town.
Laura may have grown older, but she was the same person. She was soft-spoken, painfully shy, found it very difficult to hold a conversation with anybody but me, and disliked crowds. She rarely wore make-up, and her clothes were shapeless garments that hid her curves. Despite this, her five feet ten body, curly black shoulder-length hair, and ice-blue eyes made her a striking figure.
***
Laura was a good student. Our house was just a short bus ride from the university campus. Every weekday morning we would travel together in time for her nine o'clock lecture and I would go to the Physics Department to start my day's work. We would meet for lunch, following which I would return to work, and if she had no laboratory class Laura would go home. Sometimes we would sit for lunch with a couple of quiet girls that Laura had met. They appeared to have naturally gravitated to one another. I never saw Laura talk to a male.
That did not mean that Laura had no physical needs. About a month after the start of term, I came home earlier than was usual for me. Laura was already home and as I approached the house I could see that the curtains to her room were closed, and the light was switched on. I assumed that she was studying and, so as not to disturb her, entered the house quietly and crept upstairs. On the way to my room, I passed her bedroom door which was slightly ajar, and it was then that I heard a buzzing sound.
I peered into the room through the crack in the door and was able to see the bed against the far wall where my sister lay naked and busy with a wand-vibrator. I know that I should have walked away but I was entranced. The hallway in which I stood was in the dark and it would have been almost impossible for her to know I was there, even if she had not been completely absorbed in what she was doing to herself.
I had not seen my sister naked for several years when she was a pubescent fifteen-year-old. Now, three years later she was a woman. She sat with her back against two pillows with her long legs spread wide, holding her vibrator with both hands firmly between her fleshy thighs, Her large white pendulous tits flopped down and I could see that her nipples were hard and erect. On the bed beside her was a laptop and over the hum of the vibrator the sound of a woman moaning was discernible. Laura was watching porn as she worked.
I do not know how long she had been jilling herself before I started to watch but it was obvious that she was close. Her gentle features had hardened with need, her lips were moist and parted, and her eyes were wide as she continued to hold the vibrator against her clitoris. Then in a moment, I saw her mouth open wide before her body stiffened and started to bounce up and down on the bed, her thigh muscles trembled, her legs and feet straightened, and her toes curled.
She moaned - a long-drawn-out sigh of ecstasy and release that seemed to last forever but was probably over in fifteen seconds - before she lay still, and the wand was quiet.
