Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
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PENIS PITY by Jessica Knight <knightjar at yahoo.co.uk>

   Part One - mf(mast)
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   His little daughter approached him one day as he stepped out of the
shower.  Pointing between his legs, she asked

   "That's a penis, isn't it?"

   "Yes," he answered, slightly startled.

   "I haven't got one," she said, regarding it with a small frown, "and
mummy hasn't got one."

   Then she looked up with a bright smile and reassured him, "Well don't
worry, daddy, yours isn't very big."

   -anon

   penis pity (n): relief at not having to suffer the bundle of anxieties
associated with possessing a penis

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   My brother (at the time 14 years to my 13) had the unfortunate condition
called a chordee, which caused his penis to bend down, and he had surgery
to correct it.  Technically, I'm told, this is plastic surgery (latin
plasticus means "can be molded"), and it's quite funny to think of someone
having plastic surgery on their penis.  One normally associates plastic
surgery with vanity but, believe me, this case was anything but.

   Fortunately I was a good sister and did not make fun of his situation,
which I'm sure would have destroyed him because Matt was so much more
self-conscious than most boys.  In fact, I was fascinated, and took every
opportunity to examine my brother's equipment, which was no mean feat given
that at first he did everything he could to avoid being exposed.

   Being secure with my own appearance, I used every pretext to move around
the house with progressively fewer clothes, in an unstated attempt at "will
you show me yours if I show you mine?".  We'd never really done that,
because before puberty we'd seen each other without clothes quite often. 
Whilst my brother definitely DID take notice, he failed to reciprocate.

   I liked to think (and now know) that it did have an effect on him.  I
knew he masturbated because I would occasionally hear rhythmic creaking or
knocking sounds from his bedroom as his bed moved under him.  It slowly
dawned on me that I was more likely to hear such sounds shortly after I had
wandered downstairs in just my bra "looking for some clean knickers" or
some similar excuse.

   While it flattered and sometimes aroused me, I never had the courage to
capitalise on the situation, and it was quite by accident one day when I
entered his bedroom on a genuine errand---fully clothed and WITHOUT hearing
any creaking---to find my brother splayed out naked with his right hand
wrapped around his prick.

   I had stopped on the verge of speaking with my mouth open.  Matt lay
frozen, like a proverbial deer in the headlights only MUCH cuter, probably
having jumped at the sound of his door opening, staring at me.  My eyes
flicked between the knob of his prick, protruding beyond the ring of his
fingers and thumb, and his eyes.  Neither of us said a word.

   I hung in indecision for what seemed a long time, then stepped INSIDE
his room and pushed the door behind me.  I heard his breath draw in
sharply. Realising I must be scaring him, I quickly changed my mind, opened
the door and retreated, clipping it shut.

   As I stood with my hand still on the handle, I noticed my own heart was
pounding.  My stomach felt squishy and my knees wobbly.  This was the first
time I'd actually SEEN a real boy wanking.  Oh, I knew about it and must
have discussed it to death with my friends, and of course the internet had
pictures and movies a-plenty, but to actually see it first hand made it so
much more REAL.

   From inside his room I heard sudden thumping activity.  Five seconds
after I turned and almost fled downstairs, I heard his door flung open and
his footsteps pounded towards my bedroom.  Finding it empty, he tramped
down the stairs and caught me in the kitchen.

   "Please don't tell," Matt pleaded.

   He had dressed hastily in t-shirt and boxers---rather less than he would
normally wear around me.  I regarded him with a stupid puzzled expression
on my face.

   "Come on, Jess, promise me you won't tell anyone."

   "Who would I tell?" I asked, slowly.

   "Mum, Dad, your friends...  MY friends."

   "Why would I tell them?"

   I thought this quite a bizarre idea.  Surely he knew that everyone did
it?  Telling someone that my brother masturbated was about as pointless as
telling them he breathed.  Of course it immediately occured to me that some
boys might actually masturbate at least as often as they breathed, and I
could not stop my face from acquiring a secret little grin, which was about
the worst expression I could have chosen just then.

   "Knock it off, Jess, it isn't funny.  What's it going to take for you
not to tell anyone what you saw?"

   I straightened my face and stood squarely in front of him.  Despite our
ages we were pretty much the same height, me having grown much earlier in
puberty than he had, and I looked him directly in the eye.

   "Matt, I would NEVER tell anyone.  I PROMISE."

   He visibly sighed in relief.

   "Not that there's anything to tell, but why would I tell anyone?" I
continued, adding caringly but rashly, "I don't want to hurt you, I love my
big brother."

   His head snapped back towards me and he tensed.

   "Not like THAT, pervert!" I giggled, and slapped at his shoulder. 
"Start thinking with your big brain not the little one!"

   It broke the tension and we grinned at each other for a few seconds, but
suddenly he became serious again.

   "What did you mean, 'Not that there's anything to tell' ?" he demanded.

   I thought back to what I had said, made the connection with boy-think,
and regarded him coolly.

   "Well...  I HAVE seen bigger specimens, you know," I said with fake
seriousness, then drew in a sharp breath having realised that he might take
it as a belittlement.

   "Sorry, sorry," I protested, "I didn't mean that." But Matt was grinning
from ear to ear.

   "Oh DO tell," he drawled, "what has my innocent little sister been up
to?" Adding "and if you mean dad's that doesn't count."

   I made a face.  "Dad's?  Yuck no!  Now there's an ugly object.  He needs
to take a pair of shears to all that hair.  He looks like a goat walking on
its hind legs."

   Matt sniggered at my description.  He turned to lean an elbow on the
worktop, cupping his chin in his hand.  To do this he had to bend down and
forward, so his face was level with my chest.  "Who, then?"

   I shrugged nonchalantly and mentioned the internet, which seemed to
interest him greatly.  I admitted that I really hadn't seen any live
examples, at least not on boys over the age of five.  He was quite
surprised that I had looked at what he termed "dirty pictures", so I had to
explain to him that it was really just to verify what some of my friends
had claimed, and that I didn't make a habit of it---Honest!

   It was for the most part true, too.  Of the pictures I had seen, most
were not pleasant, but there were a few examples of smooth-skinned younger
men with very little body hair which I had found quite erotic.  I didn't
let that slip, of course.  Instead I told him that I thought his penis was
much nicer that anything else I'd seen.

   That took him aback.  "You're not just saying that?" he asked, "after
all with that scar..."

   "I haven't seen the scar," I said.

   We fell silent.  I could see it worried him.  It must be a big part of
why he was so shy about his body.  It took a while, but eventually I found
the nerve to ask:

   "Will you show me?"

   Matt looked steadily at me.

   "Okay, but only if you promise not to laugh at ...  it."

   He led the way back upstairs.  I stood in the middle of his room while
he closed the door behind us, turned and leaned against it.  An observer
might have thought from our positions that he had trapped me in his room,
whereas in reality I think this was quite an invasion of his territory.  I
waited.

   He crossed to his bed, sat down with his hands flat on his knees. 
Thinking I was probably a bit intimidating, given the situation, I knelt
down on the floor with my legs folded underneath me.  Still, he didn't
move.

   "You nervous?" I asked.

   He nodded.  He took a deep breath and pushed his thumbs into the
waistband of his boxers, started to push them down.

   "No, don't," I said.  "Take off your top first.  Get used to me being
here."

   "But then I'll end up totally naked," Matt protested.

   "Does it make any difference?  I'm going to see...  most of you anyway."

   He didn't look convinced.

   "Look, would it be easier if I took off my top too?  So I'm not sat here
fully clothed?  Would that be easier?"

   "Okay," he agreed.  "Will you go first?"

   I smiled.  "Sure."

   Crossing my hands, I hiked my tshirt up, pulling it inside out as it
popped over my head.  I kept my head tilted down as I dumped it on the
floor, but I could see through my eyelashes that his eyes were focused on
my white bra.  I reached behind me and folded the clip so that it fell
open, brought my arms in front of me and shook my shoulders so that it fell
down and landed on the floor in front of me.  Then I swept my hair out of
my face, placed my hands in my lap, and looked up.

   Matt stared at my small breasts for a while.  I think despite my
parading around he'd not actually had much of an opportunity to examine
them this closely.

   "Now you," I prompted, but smiled appreciatively.

   He grabbed his tshirt by the neck and lifted it cleanly over his head.
Without stopping---I suspect if he had paused he may never have been able
to do it---he lifted his bum from the bed and shoved his boxers down to his
knees, bent forward and dropped them ankles.

   Underneath, his body was pale and skinny.  We were both fair-skinned and
burned too easily to tan, but Matt never went topless.  His legs were close
together, so as he sat up I could hardly see anything of his penis, which
lay curled down between them amid tufts of hair.

   Matt sat unmoving, looking down at me, and I realised he was trembling.

   "This is the first time anyone's really seen me naked," he said, "I
can't stop shaking."

   "It's gone soft," I observed, "not like before.  Can you make it stand
up?"

   "I don't know," he replied, "it might not work because I'm nervous."

   "I thought boys got stiffies when they were nervous sometimes," I said,
thinking of the horror-stories about boys being summoned to the front of
the class with erections which everyone could see.

   Matt shrugged.  "Not for me."

   "What do you do to make it hard when you want to play with it, then?" I
asked.

   "Oh, that's different, that's easy," he laughed.  "When I'm horny it
gets hard all by itself, I don't have to make it.  But sometimes," he
continued, "if I /want/ to, er..."

   "Wank?" I suggested.  "Masturbate?  Play with yourself?"

   "Masturbate," he repeated.  "I wasn't sure what word you'd want me to
use.  Anyway, if I /want/ to, there are several things that work.  Er..."
he trailed off again, casting a chagrinned glance at me.  "Well, I like
looking at pictures off the internet, but often just thinking about, um,
girls from school is enough."

   "I don't mind what you call it," I reassured him, "and I don't think
it's wrong to look at pictures.  Which girls?  Do you have one that you
fancy?"

   "No, not especially." Matt blushed, and I thought maybe that was a lie,
but he added "I just imagine them naked."

   "Oh, I see.  Could you do that now?"

   "Um, yes I suppose I could, but...  Jess...  how about if..." he trailed
off.

   I waited.  After a few seconds I began to suspect what he was trying to
ask.  Should I make him ask or offer?  If I was wrong I didn't want to
scare him again.

   "Look, I know you're my sister," he ventured, "but it doesn't matter. 
You're still a girl and, well, I've seen you naked before anyway, and..."

   I was impressed.  I knew he had looked, even if only briefly, after all
I'd made it practically impossible not to.

   "You want me to see me naked?"

   He nodded.  "It's easier.  Imagining you.  Because I've seen you lots of
times."

   "I didn't think you really looked."

   "Well, I shouldn't, because you're my sister, but the way you prance
round the house mostly naked..." he explained.

   I was horrified.  Was /I/ part of the problem?  Was he disgusted with
me? No, that couldn't be because he would not have asked me otherwise. 
Maybe he felt guilty, even if he wasn't lusting after me?  Time to come
clean.

   "Matt, I have to tell you something.  I /have/ been deliberately, um,
flaunting myself at you.  I hoped if you saw I was happy being naked around
you that you'd be more comfortable with yourself."

   Once I'd started it all came tumbling out.  "Look, I don't want sex with
you, okay?  But I want to see you naked.  Ever since your operation you've
been so anxious about your body.  Even though you're my brother, you're
still a boy, and your body fascinates me.  It's way better than a picture."

   "Wow!" he said, quietly.

   "So," I said, taking a breath, "if you want to see me naked to get you
hard so you can show me your penis, that's fine with me."

   I stood up, hands on my hips.  Matt put his hands behind him on the bed,
looked up at me, eyes on mine.  They flickered down to my breasts and back
up several times, and I smiled.  My jeans had buttons instead of a zip, and
I could open them all simply by twisting the first one and pulling.  I
pushed my hands inside both my jeans and my knickers, started to work them
both down together, bending forward at the same time but keeping my eyes on
his face.  When they were down to my knees they fell to the floor on their
own, and I stepped forward out of them, taking me closer to Matt, kicked
them away behind me.

   As I unbent, I closed my eyes.  I knew what Matt would do and I wanted
him to do it, but he wouldn't if I was watching him.  Sure enough, when I
opened my eyes, fully straight, his eyes were locked on my pussy.  I
shuffled my feet apart so that my legs opened slightly.  His head twitched
up guiltily.  To show him I was happy, I smiled down at him, stepped right
up to him so that my knees touched his, touched one breast with a hand and
drew it, palm flat against my skin, down over my belly, between my legs,
through the sparse hair and out over my thigh.

   Matt got the message, and looked down, drinking in the sight of me.  His
body had the right idea too, for his penis had swelled significantly and
was straightening, still rolled to one side but lifting.  The skin below
which joined to his balls drew taught and, unconsciously it seemed, he
twisted his hip to free it, separating his own thighs.  I had an
unrestricted view and I stared greedily.

   I watched quietly for about two minutes while his penis inflated to full
size---I don't know how big it was but it was longer than the width of my
hand---and stood pulsating.  The prominent knob was round and purplish-red.
Matt was looking up at me now.

   "I see you see I like what I see," he said with an enormous grin.  "And
yes, I had to think about that."

   I laughed.  "What do you like?" I asked.

   "I like your c...  er, what do you call it?"

   "My pussy?"

   "Yes, your pussy."

   "That's not what you were going to say, was it?"

   "Er, no."

   "That's okay.  Look, it depends what you're talking about.  From the
outside, it's a pussy.  Or vulva, but that's an awful word.  Pussy can mean
inside too, my vagina, my /cunt/."

   He looked up at me, a little shocked, I think.

   "There's nothing wrong with calling it a cunt," I stressed.  "Cunt is
only a bad word when you use it to insult someone.  But it's crude.  It's a
cunt and it's for fucking, but remember I'm part of this too.  I'm not a
sex object.  Better to say make love to my pussy."

   I'd lost him somewhere, I could tell (that's teenage boys for you), and
I didn't want put him off, so I sat down on the bed.

   "Will you show me your penis?"

   "Okay." He swivelled around and backed up the bed to he could cross his
legs.  In this position, his penis stuck out freely and his balls hung,
down but not completely loose, as I learned, beneath it.

   "It's a dick," he began.  "Or a cock.  Penis is okay, but it feels funny
saying it.  Like it's someone else's, you know?"

   "How about prick?" I ventured.

   He thought about it.  "Yes, I like prick."

   "And these?" I pointed at his balls.

   "Balls," he pronounced, "definitely not testicles, but scrotum is fine.
Some people say nuts."

   "You don't have any foreskin," I noted.

   "I have some, but it pulls back when I get hard.  They tried to leave as
much as they could but they needed some for part of the operation.  I don't
mind that much, but I'm glad I have some.  Here, you can see the scar where
they used it."

   He lifted his penis, his dick, to show me the underside, where there was
a short row of semi-circular marks and an odd ridge of skin, like a tiny
seam.  It wasn't ugly, but it did look out of place.

   "The stitch marks will go, they say, but the scar won't."

   "I can't see why you're worried about it," I confided, "no one can see
it unless you actually show them." As I said this I felt quite privileged.
"In fact I'd say your dick looks perfectly normal.  Um, can I...?"

   I moved my hand towards him, only wanting to touch the little seam, but
he must have thought I wanted to hold the entire thing, because he let go
and sat back on his hands.

   "It's drooped a bit," I remarked as I held it between thumb and
forefinger just below the ridge.

   "Don't worry," he said, cryptically, twitching as I made contact.  "And
it's not normal, not really.  There's supposed to be a little triangle
there, where the head wraps around and joins the shaft, but it just looks a
mess."

   I had to agree, realising I actually knew practically nothing about how
a normal penis was put together.

   "The skin still slides," he said, and I found he was right.  Although
there was only a small loose flap of skin, it was enough to cover the thick
ridge around the back of the knob.  As I experimented, I found it could
rotate, too, just a little.  I soon understood why he said don't
worry---very quickly it was back at full mast.

   It was making my arm ache, though.  I was facing the edge of the bed but
reaching around from my side furthest from him.  I shifted on the bed,
turning to face him and, just as he had done, crossed my legs in front of
me.  It pushed us a little further apart, but that was of little
consequence.

   However what I'd forgotton was that with my legs spread, my pussy opened
up like the petals of a flower.  Matt had watched me as I rearranged
myself, and if I thought he had stared earlier that was nothing to what he
did now.  His eyes opened wide and glued themselves to my crotch.  His lips
parted as if to say something, but stopped in a shallow O.

   "Haven't you seen that happen before?" I asked, but he was motionless.
In fact, he was becoming rigid, I could see his muscles tense under the
skin.  "Matt?  Matt!"

   I lifted my hand away from his prick, I think intending to grab his arm,
but instead he grabbed my hand and pushed it back down, wrapping his hand
around mine and in turn wrapping my hand around his shaft.  It took me a
few seconds to comprehend, during which time he rubbed my hand firmly up
and down his prick.  When I saw the knob poking around from inside the ring
of our hands, I had a flashback to the scene earlier when I had first seen
him masturbating.

   But I had no time to react.  The knob grew and flared and I felt his
shaft swell and grow solid inside my fingers, and then it just happened. 
Matt had his eyes screwed shut as his hips thrust up towards me and he
squeezed my hand around his prick.  His prick throbbed.  Semen burst up
over our fingers in a short spurt and landed on his foot, and more bubbled
and oozed up behind it.

   It was now my turn to stare at him.  I had been arousing
him---unintentionally masturbating him---as I played with the remains of
his foreskin.  The sight of my pussy spread in front of him must have been
enough to push him to orgasm.  I was stunned.  I was flattered.

   "Oh god, Jess, I'm sorry," he panted, "I didn't mean...  I should have
stopped you, but it just felt...  I'm sorry."

   "Don't be," I said, extracting my hand from beneath his and wiping his
cum off onto his leg.  "I think I enjoyed it."
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