The start of this story was in Christmas 2009 and spring of 2010; the finish is as of the middle of last summer.
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I was a real "late bloomer," someone that Hans Christian Anderson called an "Ugly Duckling." I turned from an ugly duckling into a swan about as fast as anyone I knew ever heard of. Between Christmas of my senior year in High School and my graduation (and 18th birthday) in June, I grew two inches, lost 15 pounds, got real boobs, got rid of my braces on my teeth, and toned my thighs, buttocks and waist (part natural, part as a result of intense triathlete training and playing softball). I went from two dates all through High School to being hit on by almost every guy in school (although turnabout is fair play, so I -- politely -- shot them all down except for the two guys who asked me out before my transformation). Much to my embarrassment, on about 40 Facebook pages of classmates I saw that I was referred to as "Killer," as in "Killer Thighs."
Even though I came from a religiously conservative family (we had two religions, Catholicism and the Boston Red Sox, the first only slightly more important than the second) I also developed a realistic view of my sexuality in the three months before my graduation, and was much looking forward to sexual experimentation in college. Therefore I went on birth control pills (without my parents' knowledge) even though I only had had intercourse a handful of times (with a condom).
I had identical triplets for older brothers -- almost exactly three years older than me -- all ending their junior years in college when I graduated High School. All three were always nice to me growing up. But as is typical of little sisters, especially ugly duckling ones, I was a burden to them sometimes, and they rarely let me tag along on their activities -- except Red Sox games -- unless my parents insisted.
Though they looked identical, and were equally physically fit having each having played three sports every year since I can remember, my brothers had very different personalities. Their differences were complimentary, though, so they were best of friends in addition to being siblings, and always covered for each other -- most of the time Dion and Alan covering for Brett.
Dion was always anxious to please, and wanted to be friends with everyone. He was the most obedient and conservative one growing up, and never got into trouble at school. A "perfect" son. He had a series of girlfriends, but sometimes led with his chin, and more than once got burned.
Alan was a devil; he loved to play practical jokes, especially on his siblings, was a cut-up in class, had a great sense of humor, and could tell stories that would make you squirm and laugh at the same time. Everyone seemed to like his sense of humor, however, and he rarely got into trouble. Like Dion he had a series of girlfriends, but never led with his chin, and never really got burned.
Brett was the opposite of Dion. He could care less what anyone thought of him. "If you don't like it, get fucked," was his mantra. He was aggressive in everything, constantly got in trouble (including fights) in school, church, at home, virtually anywhere he ventured, sometimes even Wrigley Field (for those of you who aren't diehard baseball fans, that is the home of the Red Sox). He never had a serious girlfriend that I knew about. His reputation was that he would fuck almost anything in a skirt, was always on the prowl, and he had a charm that made most of the girls he knew want to fuck him too! He broke a lot of hearts, but never his.
Though really close in High School -- and afterward -- Dion, Alan and Brett attended different colleges. I hadn't seen any of them since Christmas when they came home after finals in June.
My parents were the real "carrot and stick" type when it came to academics. Combined with a birthday present (my brothers were born a week and three years before me) they promised my brothers and I summer trips of our choosing if we made the dean's list (for them) or honor roll (for me). We all did, and stunned them with the trip we chose.
We four siblings had talked over the phone, and texted each other, and decided we wanted to go together on a Red Sox West Coast road trip, to see them play games in Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Arizona. We would get bleacher tickets in advance to each game, and fly to Seattle (the start of the trip) and rent an R. V. and drive to all the other venues, and fly home from Phoemix. Our parents agreed despite the fact that it would be very expensive.
Brett was the first one to arrive home from college for the summer. I was trimming our next door neighbor's bushes to get some spending money wearing shorts and a tank top, and had my back to him. Apparently my bubble butt and killer thighs were highly visible. Brett greeted me using his best pick-up line (he had once given me a tutorial on them, and ranked them for me), and when I turned around and he saw it was me his jaw nearly hit the floor. As I ran up to him and gave him a big hug he was as speechless as I had ever seen him. His only words were essentially "Gee, Amy, you really look different!"
By the time Dion and Alan arrived Brett must have talked to them because while they were wide-eyed when they first saw me and told me I looked great, they didn't try a pick-up line on me (ha, ha).
Once all of them were home and we discussed our trip, I found out that the three of them intended to take their home town girlfriends with us on the road, and hoped I was OK with that. Since we had rented about the biggest RV imaginable -- three bedrooms, two baths, and a loft sleeping area for me -- I wasn't going to let that dissuade me from going. Obviously I was sworn to secrecy about it since my parents would not have approved.
I knew the three "girlfriends;" Brett's was Wendy, Alan's was Betsy (believe it or not, Wendy's younger sister), and Dion's was June. I liked Betsy and June. As far as I was concerned Wendy was one of the biggest bitches in history, and I was sure Brett was taking her only because she fucked like a mink. While Alan and Dion were horny and would be fucking too, Brett took fucking to a different level.
Even though the RV had pretty good sound insulation, there was no mistaking the fucking noises coming from the three bedrooms as I slept in the loft. That was a little harder on me than I thought it would be considering that I was now on the pill and looking forward to major sex in college. I had to work my little clit over vigorously with my fingers.
Just two days into the trip a complication arose. June's mother got very sick and she had to fly back. Just three days in -- we hadn't left Colorado yet -- Wendy and I got into an argument. She said some really nasty things to me, and Brett blew up at her at told her to go home. Unfortunately she pressured Betsy into going with her (even though she didn't want to), leaving Dion sad. I thanked and apologized to Brett; his response "No problem. She didn't fuck worth a damn anyway."
The only good news, the Red Sox swept the Mariners. Despite that, there was much gloom by my three brothers as we drove to San Francisco despite my best efforts to cheer them up. Fortunately there was a day off between games. Unfortunately, the three of them started looking at me like lions would a gazelle. Three horny cocks and only one little sister pussy; not a good situation for three twenty one-year-olds with their hormones raging.
At an RV park near Flagstaff, I was awakened in the middle of the night by sounds at the door. My brothers slept more soundly than I did and apparently didn't hear it. I looked through the curtain on the door window and saw two guys fiddling with the door knob. I ran to get Brett, who was lying stark naked in bed with his dick half hard. I really liked its look but had the attempted break-in on my mind. So I woke Brett up, he put on some shorts, and went to the door.
It turned out to be a couple of drunks. They were relatively hard to dissuade, but Brett was in no mood to screw around. They got the idea, and left after he threatened to kick their asses, and they weren't too drunk to figure out he could. [I guess I never mentioned it before -- all three of my brothers are about 6'4", 220-240 pounds with sculptured arms and legs.]
I thanked Brett profusely, and in my shorty teddy was still shaking from the incident. Then what turned out to be the fateful question: "Can I sleep in your room tonight, I'm really shook up."
Though he raised an eyebrow for a second his response was "Sure Amy, no problem."
