Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 If, for some reason, you feel offended by sexual stories, then I don't know
why you have opened this one.  Maybe to be offended, so you can complain
about how awful it is that somebody writes stuff like this.  If that's the
case, my advice is to seek professional help.  You need it.  If you are not
allowed to read stories like this and choose to continue, I will not be
held responsible.  But don't worry, it's all fantasy.

   This and most of my stories would have been a mess of spelling errors
and grammatical rubbish, had it not been for Old Rotorhead, Cagey and
Marie. I'm very thankful for their patient work and encouragement.

   If you liked the story, then feel free to tell me so.  If you thought it
could have been better, please let me know as well.  My E-mail is
henlar@hotmail.com.







   (c) Henrik Larsen 2000. Reposting or any other use is strictly
prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder.
E-mail me, I'll probably give you permission.  I just want to know and
control where it is posted.  This story may be posted as part of a review
or to the ASSM archive.



   Confessions 1.

   Religion didn't play an important role in my home.  My parents weren't
religious and even if they had been, they never had the time to tell me
about it.  Still, it became a very important part of the most exciting time
of my youth.

   I wasn't conceived by mistake; a married couple were supposed to have
kids and my parents were awfully conventional.  They were also very, very
ambitious and by the time I was born, they must have figured out that they
didn't really have the time needed to bring up a kid, if they were going to
look after their careers.

   So, they hired a young girl to look after me.  She was replaced by
another young girl and so on.  From about the age of four, I can begin to
remember the girls.  I remember them better than I remember my parents from
back then.  There was many a day when I didn't see my parents at all.  They
went to work before I got up and didn't come home until after I was put to
bed.

   My parents really loved me and cared about me.  I'm sure they did, in
their own way.  But career and material wealth were what mattered.  The
only kind of parental guidance I got from them was about correct behaviour
in the presence of adults and that knowledge was important.  Naturally, I
was spoiled rotten.  I got more or less everything I asked for.  Actually,
I didn't need to ask for anything, I just got it.

   The only thing I didn't get was a playmate.  We lived in a very fancy
neighbourhood and I was practically the only kid for miles around.  The
rest of the houses were occupied by wealthy, middle-aged couples with
grown-up children or no children at all.

   I think you pretty much get the picture now.  A boy brought up by young
girls, with no contact with other kids.  A sissy little boy, slightly nerdy
and shy in the company of other children.

   This was the situation until I was six.  Then I learned that I was going
to start attending school.  I was terrified, to say the least.  The mere
thought of school scared me to death.  Having to leave my safe, protected
environment and go to a place, filled with strange children, seemed to me
to be the ultimate nightmare.

   Mom and dad sensed my fear and one evening, they said they had something
to talk to me about.

   'You know, Dan, you have a cousin, Annie.  I don't think you remember
her, I hardly do myself,' my mom began.

   'I remember uncle Paul,' I said, enthusiastically.  He was my father's
brother and he had visited us a couple of times over the past two years.

   'Yes, uncle Paul and aunt Emma.  They have a daughter, Annie.  She's the
same age as you and is going to begin school this fall, too.  Uncle Paul
wants her to go to the same school as you, so she's going to come and stay
with us,' mom said.

   'Here?  In our house?' I asked, startled.  'What about uncle Paul?'

   'He and aunt Emma have to stay in China.  Uncle Paul's job requires him
to stay there and aunt Emma prefers to stay with him.'

   I must have looked a little disappointed.  I loved uncle Paul.  He had
been stationed in China for as long as I could remember and when he came to
visit, he always played with me and he had given me some fantastic things
from China.

   'Uncle Paul will follow her over here from China.  It's a long trip, too
long for a child to take on her own,' mom added.

   'When will they be here?' I asked, excited.

   'In three days.  We'll pick them up in the airport,' dad replied.



   The next three days passed slowly.  I didn't like the thought that Annie
was going to come and live with us.  But I really wanted to see uncle Paul.
Finally it was Saturday evening and we were waiting in the airport.  My
eyes were glued to the doors where the arriving passengers came out.

   And then suddenly, they were there.  There was a lot of confusion. 
Everybody saying hello and embracing and I was kind of left out, until a
little girl poked me in the side.

   'You must be Dan,' she said.  'I'm Annie.  I'm going to live with you.'

   I stared at her at the red-haired, freckled girl.  I don't know what I
had expected.  A Chinese girl perhaps.

   'Eh, hi,' was all I could say.

   'Dad says you're a nice boy.  He said we were going to give you a
present, when we arrived.'

   Annie handed me a little parcel.  I looked at it.

   'Aren't you going to see what it is?' Annie asked, impatiently.

   'Maybe I should wait until uncle Paul and my mom and dad can see it
too.'

   Annie shook her head.

   'They're too busy talking.' Annie said, matter of factly.

   I wasn't sure it was the correct thing to do, but Annie somehow sounded
very convincing, so I began unwrapping the gift.  Inside was a cardboard
box with Chinese letters on it.  Excited, I opened the box and very
cautiously took out the contents.  It was a radio; a tiny, tiny radio.  I
had never seen anything like it before.  I was used to big radios.  The
smallest radio I had seen up to then was a transistor radio, the size of a
shoebox.  This was more like the size of two matchboxes.  I was thrilled
beyond my wildest expectations.

   'It's a radio.  My dad says it's the kind of radio they are going to
use, when they send a man to the moon.' Annie said.

   'Wow.'

   'I got one too.' Annie said.

   'Can we talk with them too?' I asked.

   'No, you can only listen.'

   I tried to turn it on.

   'You have to put the batteries in,' Annie said.

   I looked in the box again and there were two batteries and a little
earplug.  Soon, the batteries were in and the radio turned on.  It took a
little while to get anything but static, but suddenly, loud music sounded
from the tiny speaker.

   Suddenly, the grownups all looked at Annie and me.

   'What on earth is that?' mom exclaimed and then added: 'Turn it down for
God's sake.'

   'It's a radio, mom.  When they send a man to the moon, Annie and I can
hear him,' I said excitedly.

   'Well, let's see if they can get a man up there first, shall we?' my dad
said, smiling.

   That was '66, I was seven years old and I was in heaven.  Annie showed
me how to use the earplug and we sat together on the back seat of the car
listening to our radios all the way home.  All my fears about Annie coming
to live with us were gone.  I'd found a friend.

   When we got home the grownups went to the living room and I showed Annie
around the house.  I ended the tour in her room.

   'This is your room.  Do you like it?'

   Annie looked around the room.

   'It looks nice.  What's behind that door?' Annie asked and pointed.

   'My room.  You have to go through my room, if you are going to the
bathroom.'

   'Hm.  Then we can open the door and talk, when we've gone to bed,' she
said, sounding excited.

   'Yeah, I guess so,' I replied, not really getting the idea.

   'I mean, it's like . . .  we're not alone,' Annie explained.

   We sat down on Annie's bed.

   'Why isn't your mother with you?' I asked.

   'She's ill.  She needs a lot of medicine and she hides it from dad,
because she doesn't want him to know how ill she is.  It's our secret, mom
and me.  You mustn't tell dad.  He gets so worried for mom,' Annie
answered, seriously.

   'That's sad.  Do you think you will miss them a lot?'

   'I don't know.  I don't see dad much.  He travels a lot.  And mom sleeps
until late.  The medicine makes her sleepy.  I play a lot with the other
kids or play with Yin.'

   'What's a Yin?' I asked, ignorant as I was about Chinese names.

   'It's not an "it".  She's the woman who takes care of me,' Annie
answered and giggled.

   'Oh.  Mine is called Susan, and the one before her was Andrea.  Have you
only had Yin?' I replied.

   'Yes.  She's my best friend.  I'll miss her,' Annie said, a little sad.
'But I can go home every summer and visit her.'

   We talked a little longer, but it was late and somehow, we just fell
asleep on Annie's bed.  Late, mom and dad and uncle Paul woke us and I was
put into my own bed.

   Annie was right about the door.  It was nice to talk, after we had been
put to bed.  Soon we had arranged our beds on each side of the wall, so we
could talk quietly; we couldn't see each other, but we were only inches
apart.

   Annie and I got along well.  We looked much alike but inside, we were
very different.  Annie was outgoing and daring.  She would go to the line
every time and often cross it.  But she always got away with it, no matter
what she did.  She had this fantastic ability to look so innocent and, if
needed, remorseful.  I was usually reluctant to follow her lead.  Still, I
guess I gradually became a little more daring too.

   From the time Annie came to stay with us, and until we were around ten,
the young girls that looked after us were replaced at an ever-increasing
rate.  It took that long for my parents to realise what the problem was. 
But when one of them left after 3 days, we were in trouble.  Before she
left, she told my parents loudly and clearly, in a voice loud enough for us
to hear it (while we eavesdropped outside my dad's study) that we were two
little monsters.  Even Annie's innocent look couldn't help us that time.

   Mom and dad had a serious word with us; very serious!  They didn't
threaten to send Annie home, but it was close.

   By then, Annie and I were inseparable.  The duration of Annie's summer
visits to China had gone down from five to two weeks.  Separation would
have been a catastrophe for both of us.  We had to promise that we would
behave nicely towards the next young girl and in school as well.

   School was primarily Annie's problem.  We both did well in school, but
Annie often got comments from the teachers on her report card, because she
was a little too mischievous.

   Mom decided that it would be a good idea to employ a young girl from a
foreign country.  She wanted an English girl to help us improve our
English, but for some reason she couldn't find one from Britain.  Instead,
she hired a French girl.

   This girl's name was Simone and she was an exchange student, studying
English.  We had just started learning English in school and Simone didn't
speak one word of Danish, so we all had to try our best.  That way, it did
work out as my parents had intended.  We were all forced to speak English
and we had to learn it fast.

   One thing helped us learn English more than anything else: Simone was
Catholic and apparently, she believed in the stuff.  Mom thought it would
widen our horizon to know a little bit more about Catholicism, so we had to
follow Simone to church every now and then.  Going to Mass was the worst.
It lasted forever and since the church was full of people, we had to sit
quietly and listen.

   We also went along, when Simone was going to confession.  Annie was
restless and began wandering quietly around the church.  Suddenly, she
gestured to make me come over to her.  I went over to where she was, next
to the confessional.

   'Listen,' Annie whispered.

   I could hear Simone's voice very clearly.  Father Peter apparently
didn't understand French so Simone spoke English, fairly loud and clear
enough for us to hear.

   ' . . .  and I then I touched myself,' we heard her say.

   Father Peter mumbled something we couldn't hear.

   'Uh, I touched myself . . .  very . . .  intimate place.' Simone relied.

   More mumbling and Simone answered again.

   'Only outside my clothes.'

   At this point, it sounded as if one of them got up and it scared us.  We
rushed back to the bench and sat quietly with beating hearts and blushing
cheeks.  Nothing happened for a couple of minutes.  Then, just as Annie was
about to get up and sneak over there again, Simone came out of the
confessional and headed towards us.

   We didn't really have a clue what she was telling Father Peter about,
but the thrill of listening made the confession much more exciting than
Mass.  Over the next month, we heard a lot about "inappropriate thoughts"
and how Simone "touched" herself and how she touched her "Perle".

   The whole thing intrigued us so much that, in the evening, when we lay
in our beds, we sometimes played "confession".

   'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,' Annie would say and I would
reply something like: 'Tell me and Jesus will give you absolution.' Then
Annie would "confess" something, usually repeating what she had heard
Simone say in confession and I would ask her to tell more.

   We didn't really know what Father Peter said.  He always mumbled.  We
caught a few words here and there and guessed at some, but the rest I made
up.

   We only heard Father Peter speak out loud once.  It was three months
later.  By this time, Simone had a boyfriend and she no longer talked about
touching herself.  Now it was her boyfriend, touching her and doing things
to her with his "thing".  It seemed as if this "thing" was in her hands and
in her mouth all the time.

   One Sunday, Simone was confessing this week's escapades with her
boyfriend, unaware of the extra ears, listening to her confession.

   ' . . .  he was so persistent and then I gave in.  But I was afraid that
it would have consequences, so I let him use the other entrance,' Simone
said.

   The father mumbled.

   'How do you say it . . .  mon derrière . . .  sodomize,' Simone said.

   And that was when we heard Father Peter.

   'MY CHILD!!!  That is a very serious sin.  Don't ever let him do that
again.  It must have hurt terribly.' Father Peter yelped, appalled.

   'Oui, tout d'abord . . .  in the beginning, but then it felt bon.  Tres
bon.'

   Whenever Simone was angry or excited about something, she put in a lot
of French words, when she spoke.

   Father Peter lowered his voice again and Simone told him a little more
about "sodomize" or whatever the terrible sin was called.

   Simone was a very cheerful girl and we grew very fond of her.  I think
she liked us too and she showed it.  She would always hug us and kiss us on
the cheek, which we weren't accustomed to.  But we got used to it. 
Actually, I ended up liking her hugging and kissing on the cheek.  It felt
good.

   Simone took her job seriously.  She was there for us.  After school, she
had often baked a cake or something similar and she was always ready to
play cards or board games.

   Simone always smiled and I guess we knew something was seriously wrong,
when we got home that day.  Simone had been crying, her eyes were all red
and swollen.  She was pale and there was no sign of a smile.  Of course, we
immediately tried to find out what was wrong, but she wouldn't say.

   Later that day, we listened by the door, while she was talking to mom
and dad.  Simone talked very quietly and cried all the time.  We could hear
mom trying to comfort her, but we couldn't hear what it was all about.

   The next day, mom was home when we got back from school.  She told us
that Simone was ill; it wasn't anything serious but she would have to be in
the hospital for a few days.

   The day Simone returned from the hospital, she still looked very sad. 
Not at all like the Simone we knew.  We tried to cheer her up, but in vain
and she didn't want to tell us what was the matter with her and why she had
to go to the hospital.  Finally, she told us that she was going home to
France again.  We were genuinely sad about that and Simone was too.  We all
cried.

   Simone had been special and not just because of the confessions.  Maybe
it was because we had been told to treat her nice.  We'd had a chance to
get to know her, but I still think it was more than that.

   Simone left and her absence left a vacuum.  The girl who took over was
nothing special.  We still treated her nice, but she wasn't Simone.  We
didn't spend much time with her, as we had done with Simone.  When she
quit, my parents decided that we were old enough to look after ourselves.

   Time passed and we grew older.  Annie went home twice a year to visit
her parents; at Christmas and for three weeks in the summer.  It was lonely
without her.  We still didn't see any other children except in school and
at gymnastic training.  They all lived too far away and besides, Annie and
I had each other and didn't need any other kids to play with.

   The summer we turned fourteen, Annie left to visit her parents as usual.
She was supposed to be gone for three weeks, but 5 days after she had gone,
mom suddenly told me she was coming home the next day.  I was both happy
and a little worried.  Mom hadn't said anything about why she was coming
home so quickly.

   Annie was very quiet, when we picked her up in the airport, but I
assumed it was the long flight.  It was late, when we got home and we went
more or less straight to bed.  We talked a little about nothing.  Annie
mostly answered my questions about the visit with monosyllabic words.

   Suddenly, she didn't answer.  At first I thought she had fallen asleep,
but then I could her she was crying quietly.

   'Annie, are you ok?' I whispered.

   There was a loud sob from the other side of the wall.  I got out of bed
and went into her room and sat down on the side of her bed.

   'What happened?  What's wrong?'

   Annie tried to speak, but it only made her cry harder.  She was
shivering like she was cold.  I had never seen her like that before.  I put
my arms around her and hugged her for several minutes, until she had calmed
down sufficiently to speak again.

   'Why . . .  why didn't they tell me?' Annie finally managed to whisper.

   'Tell you what?'

   'Mom . . .  is an alcoholic.  The medicine . . .  all the things she . .
.  never could do . . .  because she was . . .  ill . . .  it was all lies
. . .' Annie said and began crying hard again.

   I didn't understand the full implication of what Annie told me, but I
understood enough to figure out why she was so sad.

   'They just . . .  sent me . . .  away,' Annie sobbed.  'They . . .  lied
to . . .  me.'

   I didn't know what to say.  My stomach was one big knot.  I just held
her and let her cry until she fell asleep.

   Annie felt better in the morning.  Mom and dad acted as if nothing had
happened.  Maybe they didn't know.  After breakfast, Annie told me what had
happened.

   'I found my mom drinking vodka from the bottle.  At 10 in the morning.
Suddenly, it was all so obvious.  We had a row.  First she tried to
convince me that she wasn't drinking.  She "had just mixed some medicine in
the bottle".  Then she blamed me, because I had moved away.'

   I interrupted her.

   'But you were only 6.  They sent you over here to go to school.

   'That's what I told her.  Then she blamed me, because I had been a
difficult child when I was there.  I asked her how she knew; she was never
there.  Then she started to cry and was very remorseful, telling me that
she would quit right away.  We both cried a lot and I forgave her.'

   'Why did you come home then?' I asked, stupidly.

   'She didn't really keep the promise.  In the afternoon, she was drunk as
a skunk and we had another row.  Mom went to bed.  Then dad came home.  I
told him what I had discovered and he started talking about "protecting me"
and "keeping it a secret".  He didn't understand . . .  He didn't
understand how I felt.  I was . . .  so . . .  I felt so let down.  All
these years, I had worried about mom.  I had kept her secret from dad,
because I really thought she was ill and that it would make dad sad if he
knew how ill she was.  And it was lies.  It was all lies!'

   Annie had to inhale deeply a couple of times.  But she didn't cry.  It
was a different Annie this morning.  Older, more mature.  She didn't sound
like a little girl any more.

   'I decided that I didn't want to stay there any more.  It wasn't my
home. I wanted to come back here.'

   She looked me straight in the eyes.

   'You are my closest friend,' she said, very seriously.  'Promise me that
you'll never lie to me.'

   'I promise,' I said with a lump in my throat.

   'I'm your sister now.  I'm never going back.' Annie said.





   It took a while before Annie got back her normal good mood.  Mom and dad
acted as if nothing had happened.  I didn't know if they knew or not, but I
guess they did.  I myself didn't know what to say or do.  I found it a
little awkward just to ignore it, like mom and dad did, but I couldn't
really say anything to make it better.  I tried to forget about it and
gradually, I succeeded.

   Annie didn't go home for Christmas.  I certainly didn't mind.  I loved
Christmas; the mood, all the lights and the presents.  Spending Christmas
with Annie there only made it better.



   Other things soon began to occupy my mind.  The older boys on my
gymnastics team had been talking about girls and sex for a long time.  I
listened but wasn't really interested.  But gradually, I began to find it
more and more interesting.  I began to look at girls differently.  I also
noticed that I was getting hair in places I hadn't had hair before.

   I knew, from the very rudimentary course on human biology in school,
that I had entered puberty.  I knew the physical signs, nothing else, but I
suddenly felt that the things the older boys were talking about were very
exciting.  Looking at girls and dreaming about them was even more exciting.


   My knowledge about sex was mainly based on the locker room discussions.
The older boys used words that I didn't know at first.  I learned, though.
The meaning of words like pussy and wiener.  I could translate the words
"von hinten" from German, but it took a little while before I found out
what they were talking about, when they said "giving it to her von hinten"
- apart from "from behind".

   I didn't really gain any specific knowledge from listening to the older
boys, but enough to figure out what Simone's confession was about.  And
that the thing that had shocked Father Peter so much, was pretty much the
same as "von hinten".

   I also figured out that Simone must have followed Father Peter's advice
and stopped doing it that way.  Instead, she had let her boyfriend enter
her in a way accepted by the Catholic Church and she had gotten pregnant.

   My first real sexual revelation came shortly after my fifteenth
birthday, in January.  I was in the shower, washing myself and dreaming
about one of the girls in my class.  I must have washed my dick while I was
dreaming.  Suddenly I got a funny feeling in my groin and when I looked
down, my dick spewed out some milky fluid.  I was scared at first, but then
I realised that it was what was described as ejaculation in my lesson on
human biology; or what the older boys described as "coming".

   It became a frequent activity when I showered, since it was the only
place I had a enough privacy.  The door between Annie's and my room was
never closed and I found it difficult to find a good explanation as to why
I suddenly would want it closed.  Besides I was so used to it that I really
didn't want the door to be closed.  We always talked, when we went to bed
and it was usually the best time of the day.  We could discuss almost
anything.  I say almost, because I hadn't discussed my new discovery with
Annie.  Somehow, I didn't think she would be the least interested; maybe
even disgusted.

   Masturbating was the only active form of sex I practised.  We didn't
have parties in school or any other events where I had a chance to
socialise with girls.  Going to the local disco wasn't an option at all.  I
would never have gotten my parents permission and even if I did, I wouldn't
dare to go alone.  I was still a bit nerdy and slightly introverted.

   Life went on.  The summer marked the beginning of our last year in
elementary school.  Annie and I were already destined to continue our
education at a famous gymnasium and that was pretty much the same for the
rest of our classmates.  That meant the schoolwork and the coming exam was
pretty important.

   I guess in every class there's always somebody who tries to get around
things the easy way.  Our class was no exception.  His name was Mark and
his father was a well-known and wealthy businessman.  The only thing Mark
was really good at was soccer.  Apart from that, he was a selfish,
self-satisfied, bragging nuisance.  He acted as if he was God's gift to the
world and somehow, he always got away with it.

   Mark rarely bothered to do his homework.  Instead, he would "borrow" the
assignments from one of the girl's desk and copy the answers.  He always
returned the papers he "borrowed" but I couldn't figure out why the girls
let him do it and most of them did.  Some of the girls had learned never to
leave their homework lying on their desks, but other girls still did it.

   One day, when we were assigned to write an English essay for the next
day, Annie had put her essay on the desk in plain view.  We had often
discussed Mark's habits and Annie never let him copy her homework, so I was
very puzzled.  Mark didn't waste any time and took the essay and copied it
between classes.  Even more surprisingly, Annie hardly complained when he
took it.

   'Why did you let him copy your essay?' I questioned Annie in the bus on
the way home.  'You'll have to write another.  You can't both hand in the
same essay.'

   'I've already written another.  Here, read this, this is the one Mark
copied,' she answered with a broad grin, handing me the paper.  'Read the
second paragraph.'

   I read the paragraph Annie pointed to:



   'I'm going to blow you,' she whispered and put it into her mouth.  He
was stiff and moaned incomprehensibly.

   'Suck it!' he hissed.

   'How does it feel?  Can you feel it raising inside you?  Are you happy
now,' she asked.

   He stuck it deeper into her mouth and she pulled hard on it.  His head
exploded and it splattered out over her face and chest.



   I looked at Annie, shocked and blushing.  It shocked me that Annie could
write something like that and that she actually knew the meaning of it.

   'Are you crazy?  You can't write something like this in an English
essay. Old Miss Rabinowich is going to kill you, if she doesn't have a
massive coronary first," I said.

   'I never had any intention of showing this to Miss Rabinowich,' Annie
said, still grinning.

   She took the paper, folded it up and put it in her pocket.

   'This is the one I will give her, if Mark admits copying my essay,' she
said, taking out another paper and handing it to me.  'Read the second
paragraph in this one.'



   I did and it was completely different, yet almost the same words:



   'I'm going to blow your head off,' she whispered between her teeth and
put it into his mouth.  He was stiff from fear and moaned incomprehensibly.

   'Suck it!' she hissed at him.  'How does it feel?  Can you feel the fear
rising inside you?  Are you happy now?' she asked.

   She stuck it deeper into his mouth and pulled the trigger hard.  His
head exploded and blood splattered out over her face and chest.



   I suddenly realised that Annie had planned it and wanted Mark to take
the essay.

   'Annie, Mark is going to be in a lot of trouble,' I said and looked
seriously at her.

   'Serves him right.  He's had it coming for a long time,' she said and
added, 'I only wish I could see Miss Rabinowich's face when she reads his
essay.'

   I couldn't help laughing, trying to imagine Miss Rabinowich's reaction.
And Mark did deserve it.  He had sponged off others' work for far too long.
We got off the bus, laughing ourselves to tears.  Annie took the folded up
paper and put it in the garbage can.

   'Promise not to tell anybody?' she said.

   'Of course I won't.'

   'Don't you think Mark noticed?' I asked, suddenly realising that this
could backfire.

   'Don't worry.  He's too dumb to notice.  His English is too lousy for
him to understand what he is copying.

   We had to wait two days to see the result of Annie's practical joke.  We
were going to have Miss Rabinowich in the first lecture that day, but she
didn't show up.  Looking out the window, we saw Mark's father walking from
the parking lot, followed by Mark, who looked like he was being taken to
the gallows.  Annie and I exchanged knowing glances.

   A couple of minutes later the headmaster, Miss Rabinowich, Mark's father
and Mark walked into the classroom.

   'Miss Hansen,' the Headmaster said, very strictly.

   Annie went up to him and he showed her Mark's essay.

   'This young man claims that you wrote this for him.  Is that true?'

   'No.  He stole my essay and I had to write another.' Annie answered and
began reading the essay.

   She put her hand over her mouth, looking genuinely shocked and handed
the paper to the Headmaster.

   'I . . .  I certainly never wrote that,' she said, blushing fiercely.

   'I'm sorry, Miss Hansen.  I know this is not something to show a young
girl,' the headmaster turned to Mark.

   'But she did write it!' Mark protested.

   'And you took it and copied it?' the headmaster asked, inquisitorially.

   'Yes . . .  you saw it, Sofie,' he said and looked pleading at Sofie. 
She was one of the girls that usually let him copy her homework.

   'It's true.  He took Annie's story and copied it,' Sofie answered.

   Just as Annie had planned, the Headmaster turned to her again.

   'Do you have the original paper?'

   'Yes,' Annie said and went down to her bag.  She took out the decent
version of the essay Mark had copied and went back to the group of angry
adults.

   The headmaster read through the essay and handed it to Miss Rabinowich.
She scanned it as well and smiled with satisfaction.

   'This is the kind of work Annie always delivers.  I knew she would never
write that filth,' she said and looked at Mark's essay with disgust.

   'Not only do you steal your classmate's essay, you are too dumb to even
copy it correctly,' The headmaster said, sarcastically and turned to Mark's
father, who looked like he was about to have a fit.

   'I'm not sure your son is the kind of pupil we want in this school.  We
have a reputation . . .'

   Mark's father interrupted the Headmaster.

   'I can only agree and I assure you that it will never happen again.  I'm
sure we can work out something,' he said and tried to guide the headmaster
out of the classroom, with Mark in a tow.

   Miss Rabinowich was somewhat upset but not shaken and proceeded with her
class, almost as if nothing had happened.  Mark didn't reappear until after
Miss Rabinowich had left the class.  As he passed Annie on his way down to
his table, he hissed:

   'I'm going to get you for this.'

   'What?' Annie said and looked very innocent.

   A couple of the other boys came to Annie's rescue.

   'You can't blame Annie for your own stupidity, Mark.  It's not her fault
that you can't copy correctly.'

   'You had this one coming . . .  moron.'

   Mark mumbled something and slunk off to his own table.  The defeat was
total.



   The incident with Mark meant two things to me.  First, I suddenly
realised that Annie had grown up too and maybe she wasn't as innocent and
ignorant as I had led myself to believe.

   Secondly, she began to appear in my fantasies, when I masturbated.  This
worried me.  It was wrong to think of her that way.  I mean, she was almost
my sister and you shouldn't think of your sister that way.  I tried hard, I
really did, but whenever I fantasised about girls, her face would suddenly
appear in my mind.

   I thought about Simone again and her confessions.  She seemed so happy
and relieved, when she came out after confession.  Maybe that was the way
to get rid of the guilt I felt, when Annie appeared in my fantasies.  I
never got beyond thinking about it.  I honestly didn't know how to become a
Catholic.  I wasn't sure I believed in God at all.  Could I become a
Catholic, if I didn't believe in God?  Would I have to go to church all the
time or could I just go to confession, when I needed it?  It was too
complicated and I gave up the idea.

   I felt terribly guilty, but Annie took over more and more in my
fantasies.  No matter how hard I tried, her face and body still occupied my
mind.  And I was suddenly beginning to notice her body.  t Annie always
walked through my room to the bathroom.  When we were younger, she often
walked naked through my room, when she was going to shower.  She'd stopped
doing that a couple of years ago.  She began to wear a bathrobe.  But
lately it had changed again.  She often just wore a towel, wrapped around
her torso and it barely covered her behind, since it was also covering her
chest.

   I tried not to, but I couldn't help staring at her and trying and get a
glimpse of her lovely shaped behind or the swellings on her chest.  She
would often stop to talk to me and it was awfully difficult not to stare,
when she was standing in front of me, barely covered by a towel.

   Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed as if Annie spent more and
more time talking to me, after her showers.  She was driving me insane and
fuelling my fantasies and my guilt.

   I was both relieved and disappointed, when she began to wear her
bathrobe; not every time, but more often than not.  However, I soon
realised that it would only add to my torment.  When she stood or sat and
talked to me after her shower, the robe slowly opened.  A couple of times,
I got a sneak peek at her breasts and once I could almost see all the way
up to her crotch.

   I fought a losing battle, trying not to look at her, whenever I got the
chance.  Something inside me, over which I had no control, urged me to
look, but afterwards, I was plagued with guilt.  Not knowing what to do,
the situation remained the same and for the time being, I learned to live
with the constant guilt.

   As autumn turned into winter, it became colder and darker and I spent
more time in my room.  I was practically always in my room, when Annie came
from her shower.  I gradually became used to her casual dressing-habits and
the guilt wore off a little bit.  I could almost talk with her without
constantly trying to get a glimpse of her feminine attributes.  And I did
get a glimpse fairly often.  She was very careless when tying the belt that
held the robe together.

   One day, just before Christmas, Annie was particularly talkative.  She
talked and talked, moving around in front of me and making a lot of
gestures as she talked.  She was wearing a towel that day.  I can't recall
what she was telling me, but her arms flew around her body and she had to
tighten the towel several times.  It didn't help though.  The towel
loosened again and before she could tighten it, the towel fell to the
floor. Annie was suddenly standing in front of me, completely nude.

   'Ooops,' Annie giggled shyly, but she didn't try to cover herself.

   I just sat there, looking like a cod on dry land, gasping and staring at
her.  Then she said something that took whatever breath I had left, away.

   'Do you like what you see?'

   I was flabbergasted.

   'I . . .  I . . .  yes,' I finally managed to stutter.

   I felt very embarrassed, but my body's reaction opposed that of my mind.
Nothing happened for an eternity.  Suddenly Annie picked up the towel,
leaning towards me and getting so close I could feel the heat radiating
from her nude body.  Then she rushed into her room.

   It was the first time I had ever seen a girl nude.  I had imagined what
they looked like, using the images I had seen in paintings or dark, shaded
images from movies, but I had never seen a girl fully undressed.  The girls
often trained in the same hall as the boys, when we practised gymnastics
and I had looked a lot at the girls in their leotards.  Now, I suddenly
knew what a girl really looked like.

   The image of Annie in the nude was burned into my brain.  I couldn't
stop thinking about it.  I had to go shower very quickly to get relief.  It
was still hard to concentrate on my homework after the shower.

   Annie began to consult me, when she was getting dressed, asking if she
looked OK, if her arse looked big and stuff like that.  She would come into
my room and do a little catwalk and then ask me about her clothes and how
she looked.  It was rather innocent and yet I found it slightly disturbing.
My mind always began undressing her, when she turned and showed herself off
to me like that.

   Just after Christmas, she bought a new swimming suit.  She hadn't paid
much for it, because it was on sale.  Just before we went to bed, she
wanted to try it on and show it to me.  I was used to seeing her in
leotards, but this was a two piece bikini and it showed more than it
covered.

   'What do you think?  Do I look sexy?' she asked, swirling and jumping
around, making her breasts bounce.  It looked as if her breasts were going
to burst the flimsy material.

   I tried to keep my composure and answer calmly.

   'You look very good.  But it is very . . .  revealing,' I answered.

   'Do you mind?' Annie promptly replied, teasingly.

   'Don't be silly,' I said, blushing.

   'Come on.  You've promised never to lie to me, remember?'

   Yes, I remembered.

   'I don't mind, OK?' I said, feeling the blood rush to my face.

   Annie looked down her legs.

   'God, I need to shave my legs,' she said and in an instant she was gone.
Ten minutes later, she reappeared from the bathroom.

   'That's better, don't you think, she said.

   I was sitting on my bed and she put her left foot on my thigh, showing
me her freshly shaved leg up close.  Her crotch was right in front of my
face and it distracted me.

   'Eh, yes,' I said, not able to tear my eyes away from her crotch.

   'Feel,' she said, leaning towards me and taking my hand, leading it to
her leg.

   Her skin was so smooth.  She pulled my hand up to her thigh.  The skin
on her inner thigh was unbelievable smooth.  Annie innocently guided my
hand closer to her crotch, oblivious to the effect it had on me.  I was so
aroused.  I didn't know what I was doing.  My hand just continued on the
course Annie had set.

   In a trance, I let my hand brush over her crotch, feeling the heat
almost burning my fingertip.  Annie gasped and froze.  That woke me up.

   'I'm sorry.  I shouldn't . . .' I said, feeling awful.

   'It's ok,' Annie said and added with a shy giggle, 'It felt nice.'

   'It was wrong.  I'm sorry'

   I had already changed into pyjamas and suddenly I became very aware of
my own predicament.  It made me feel worse about it all.  If Annie looked
down, it would be impossible to hide.  I tried to put my hands in my lap to
cover myself, but I wasn't sure if it did the trick and I didn't dare to
look down.  I didn't dare to look up at Annie either, so I just stared at
her tummy.

   Finally, Annie took her leg down.

   'I'd better get to bed too,' she said casually and strolled out of my
room.

   Relieved, I rushed out to the bathroom and brushed my teeth.  I had
hoped to be able to get back under my duvet before Annie had finished
changing into her pyjamas, but I didn't make it.  She was waiting outside
the bathroom, when I got out and I could feel her eyes on my crotch.  My
dick had almost gone back to normal size, but her stare immediately woke it
again.  I rushed past her to the safety of my bed.  My sleep that night was
disturbed by numerous dreams about Annie.  I felt utterly bad about the
whole thing and promised myself not to get carried away again.  I promised
myself that it was all over, but little did I know that it had just
started.


   To be continued.