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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don't believe in categorizing things. "I don't want to o
o be typed therefore I don't type things myself." I think it's o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Me and My Younger Brother (mf-teens, inc)
by Jeannie (rankamatr@aol.com)
(c) Nov 1996
***
Of all the taboos in human society, incest may be the greatest.
No wonder, then, that it is also one of the best kept secrets....
We now know that incest is much more common than previously
imagined. Many people first begin to fantasize sexually about
family members. Cousins and siblings may help us explore
another person's body for the first time.
I want to hear from you if you have had sexual contact with a
family member, and what impact that had on your lives. Perhaps
it was successful; perhaps it was a bad memory best forgotten.
The story doesn't have to be very long, or detailed, or even
sexy. Just let me know:
...with whom (brother, mother, cousin, uncle)
...at what age
...who initated the activity, and
...how you feel about it now
I assure you, the confidentiality of any information provided
will not be compromised. If you have a story you would like
to share, please send mail to RankAmatr@aol.com.
Here are a few of the stories I have received so far. Thank you.
[A bumper crop after 3 weeks of famine. Thanks, everyone! More
stories in a few days. For now, one looooong one .... names
changed to protect the not-so-innocent, as you shall read.]
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
ME AND MY YOUNGER BROTHER
(mf, teen, incest, true)
By Jeannie
I'm glad I found this group on incest. I want to talk something
out. I hope I got all that "mf, teen" etc. business right.
I also hope I don't screw up my anonymity. A friend at college
set me up with the Private Idaho remailing program (I told him I
wanted to send jokey messages to friends and play around in some
newsgroups without collecting weird email). Private Idaho posted
okay to alt.anonymous but not to alt.sex.incest. Too disreputable
maybe.
So I borrowed a temporary AOL ID and am emailing my journal to
"rankamatr@aol.com" instead. "Rankamatr@aol.com" posts true
incest stories collected from others so I suppose I can trust him
or her to protect my anonymity. I do want to post this. It
represents quite a bit of effort (mostly enjoyable) to remember
the details of some experiences I had with my brother a couple of
years ago.
I will read anyone's comments but I won't be able to respond
since I can't post to this group anonymously. Unless someone
posts some instructions on how to do the truly anonymous posts
that I see so many of here. Pls don't flame me; I'm not brain
dead; and I'm willing to learn. I would like to be able to
participate more directly if my journal sparks any comment.
[Anonymous posting used to be easy, with the anon.penet.fi
service in Finland. Unfortunately, the Scientologists wanted to
know one of the posters there, and brought suit in a Finnish
court that ruled against the owner of that service. He shut down
rather than put more users at risk of exposure. The next time
you wonder where your privacy went, remember this: thank the
Scientologists. Personally, I think they're assholes. -- Rank]
So here are my memories of my encounters with Ricky, in the form
of a note I tried unsuccessfully to post using Private Idaho. I
will trust "rankamatr@aol.com" to post my message unchanged and
to honor my request for anonymity.
* * *
Most of the alt.sex.incest messages just seem to me like Huge
Cock Meets Hungry Slut drools, and I've avoided the graphic files
mostly. But to each his own. I'm in no position to judge others
for what makes them excited, so long as they don't hurt others.
Some messages here do seem real, for which I'm grateful, because
I've needed for a couple of years to process some sexual
encounters I had with my younger brother. I hope writing here
will help me get a handle on these events. A friend who
participates in several support groups (okay, I know that's not
exactly what this place is) said I should tell some general stuff
about myself so you have some idea of who you're
sort-of-interacting with.
So here goes. My real first name is Jeanne (Je-Anne) but I go by
Jeannie. I'm 19 and going to college "somewhere in the Midwest,"
as they say. (I don't want to get too specific.) My teachers tell
me I have a good mind. Physically, I'm 5'6" in my shoes and a bit
thin, with light brown hair that I hate to cut. I have greenish
eyes and fairly regular features. I've been told by friends and
by guys my own age that I'm good-looking, although my mirror
tells me I'm not beautiful or stunning or anything like that. A
boyfriend once said I look like a pixie, which he seemed to think
was okay. I play tennis and swim a lot, so I'm fairly strong and
don't have much body fat.
My personal behavior for the most part falls within the norm. I'm
not a virgin but I've never been very active sexually, since AIDS
scares me to death and I want to lead a good, reasonably long
life. I do masturbate fairly often, at least several times a
week. When I do, I'm usually thinking about my brother Ricky.
That's what I need to write about.
Ricky (who lately prefers to be called Rich) is still at home
finishing high school, a few hundred miles away. He's 17 now and
a classic "nice kid," the sort that other boys' moms wish they
had: stays out of trouble, plays sports, studies hard. He'll
probably make it to 21 without having to lie or answer "Yes" to
any of those "have you ever...?" questions on application forms.
He runs long-distance events in track and competes in school
swimming and diving meets, so you can probably visualize the kind
of lo ng, lean body he has. He would have no problem getting
dates, but he's on the shy side. I hope someday he gets over
that.
I also have a little sister Jody, 12, who wants to grow up like
me for some reason. That's it for the family. Mom has dates
sometimes, mostly with men from where she works, but there's
nobody of the male persuasion steady in her life, at least not
that I know of. Dad left our household years ago; he lives in
California. I spent my last summer vacation and last year's
school vacations with him and he wasn't drinking for the first
time I can remember. He did go to a lot of AA meetings, which
made me happy. He said he got a lot of stuff worked out in his
life by writing about it after he got sober, which is one reason
I'm writing this. I think I need to look at these memories.
The events I'm writing about happened a couple of years ago in
late Spring. Ricky had just turned 15 and I had been 17 for a
couple of months. Since I skipped a grade in grammar school, I
was about to graduate early from high school, and was feeling
very grown-up and mature, thank you very much.
A couple weeks before, Ricky had gotten into a losing argument
with a car while riding his bicycle. It wasn't the driver's
fault, since Ricky had just barreled out into the street in front
of him at full tilt. The bike was killed dead, a total wreck.
Ricky, luckily for him, only had his arms broken in a couple of
places, plus a couple of ribs cracked and a collar bone broken.
Plus some internal injuries that healed fairly quickly, and
assorted deep bruises. He got out of it alive and without serious
head or spinal injuries, was the main thing. But he was hurting.
When Ricky got home from the hospital he was all wrapped up in
bandages across his chest and had immobilizing casts on both
arms. They installed his poor injured carcass in a rented
hospital bed in his room, all hooked up to ropes and pulleys that
held his arms slightly elevated to accelerate healing, I guess.
The poor kid was completely helpless and had to be taken care of
by a nurse who came during the day, courtesy of the state
government. She was a big, 50-ish, no-nonsense woman who looked
like a prison guard. At night she went home to whoever loved her
and Mom tended to Ricky's needs.
I guess that's a situation anyone can get used to in time, but I
felt really sorry for Ricky, having to be fed and bathed and use
a bedpan and everything. I just couldn't imagine having to use a
bedpan. In a hospital room, with nurses to handle the details,
maybe; but right there at home? With my own MOM wiping my butt
and pulling my pants back up and emptying the bedpan and
everything? It boggled my mind to think about it. Still does.
(Well, after the first week or so Ricky was strong enough to get
out of bed and walk to the toilet if someone unhooked the ropes
for him, but he still needed help because he couldn't bend his
arms. And he couldn't stay on his feet for long. Poor kid.)
Mom is tough, and smart too, and knew how to help Ricky feel
better about it; or at least, he never complained. The nurse took
care of the worst of the intimate details most of the time, so I
guess it was workable. Mom pretty much kept me and Jody out of
Ricky's room at first because he felt miserable and also, I
suppose, he didn't feel like answering any embarrassing
questions. By the second week we all sort of took everything for
granted, and visited Ricky when he wasn't otherwise occupied and
stayed out of the way when he needed privacy with Mom or the
nurse.
In the second week after the accident, on a Friday night after
Ricky's nurse had left, Mom got a panic night call from her job
and had to go in to help fix problems with some sort of
engineering proposal they were all excited about. She put me in
charge of Ricky and Jody for the evening. We expected it wouldn't
be a problem, since they were both asleep.
I was watching TV when I heard Ricky holler out for Mom, so I ran
up to his room to see what he needed. He asked where Mom was and
I told him, and he asked if I would mind getting him some toast
with honey since he was hungry. I said sure, and went to get it.
When I got back he explained I needed to put a towel on his chest
in case of spills because crumbs and such could get
uncomfortable. So I pulled the blanket down to his waist and put
a hand towel over his chest, put another pillow under his head to
bring his head closer to upright, sat down on the bed by him and
held the toast up to his mouth so he could take a bite. He was
smiling at me as I did all this, which made me feel good since I
always really liked Ricky. He was a super kid and a good younger
broth er.
We had a minor mishap when some honey dripped off the toast and
started rolling down his cheek. I jerked the toast away so I
could dab at his cheek with the towel, but that just made things
worse -- the toast got away and landed the way Murphy's Law says
it must, with the honey side down, half on Ricky's stomach and
half on the blanket. Ricky started giggling out loud, so, since
he wasn't wearing a shirt (the casts on his arms made him too hot
if he wore one) I started tickling his sides, not too hard. Pret
ty soon honey had gotten pretty much all over.
Once we'd both calmed down a bit, I got a warm, wet washcloth and
started washing him -- laving, as the old word goes -- from his
chest bandage down to the top of his p.j. bottoms, wiping his
stomach gently so as not to start him laughing again. Ricky had
his eyes closed and was smiling, and I never felt so close to him
as I did then. I just loved him to pieces. There wasn't any
sexual component; it's just that seeing him smile like that, with
his eyes closed, as I washed his body, made my heart full. Like I
said, I have always liked Ricky.
When I pulled down the blanket in order to put a new (unhoneyed)
one onto the bed, the sheet pulled down with it, so he was
uncovered except by his pajama bottoms. When I glanced back up
at him from where I was removing the sheet and blanket, something
struck me as odd, and then I realized Ricky had an erection. It
was raising the front of his p.j.'s so that its outline showed
rather clearly from his crotch down along his left leg. I guess
my mouth dropped open in surprise; I know my eyes widened and I
just stared stupidly at the outline of his erect penis under the
thin cloth of his pajamas. It's odd, but I remember an image
flashed through my mind of his cute little thingie the last time
I had seen it, when he was about 4 or 5 years old, and I thought
how much bigger it was now. (Duh.)
I don't know how long I stared. Eventually he more or less cried
out "Jeannie!" and raised up the knee nearest me. I tore my eyes
away and looked up at his face. Poor Ricky -- he was mortified!
His cheeks were bright red, and I think he might have given just
about anything to be able to cover himself up at that point. But
with his arms immobilized, of course all he could do was raise
his knee and sort of point it away from me in order to hide
himself. My heart went out to him. I had never meant to embarrass
him.
"Ricky, it's okay," I told him. "I've seen pictures in sex ed and
you don't have anything to be ashamed of. I love you." Somewhere
in there I started smiling at him. "You're beautiful. It's okay,
you have a beautiful male body, and really it's okay."
"I can't help it," he told me. "It felt so good when you were
washing me, and I've been like stuck here. Forever. I'm really
sorry, Jeannie. I'm so sorry." I think he was about to cry.
Remember I'm not a very sexually active person, and at that time
I was technically still a virgin. So this was unknown territory
for me. Not that I was completely ignorant. I'd taken sex ed (not
much real knowledge there -- I guess we got the Baptist version).
Also, the year before, at 16, I had gotten too hot and heavy for
comfort with my boyfriend Tom in the back of his father's car a
couple of times, me with my shirt unbuttoned and Tom groping me
while I groped him back. One night I let him finger me bet ween
my legs until I had an orgasm. Then he told me he needed release
also, or it would be physically painful for him, which was a new
idea to me. But fair is fair, so I let him show me the right way
to stroke his erection and I brought him to climax that way; he
spurted semen all over himself and his shirt and the car seat. It
was astonishing and a bit scary, how much fluid came jetting out
of him. I could see how it might be painful for a boy to have to
hold all that in.
When the spurting slowed down I let go of Tom's penis, but even
so his semen got all over my hand and I had to wipe it off -- I
used his jeans for that, hee hee. (Thank god for the sex ed
class, though -- I knew in general terms what was going on with
him physically, so I didn't freak out. But I bet his poor old dad
freaked the next day if he noticed the backseat in his car.)
Anyhow, after the second date in which we "got each other off"
manually, I told Tom it made me nervous because I didn't want to
go all the way with anyone yet, and I was afraid we would lose
control. Tom respected my wishes, bless him. We still hugged and
kissed, but we toned it down enough that such "heavy petting" (as
they said in sex-ed) wasn't needed by him, or by me, anymore. We
were still friends the last time I saw him, quite awhile ago --
platonic but intimate at the same time if you know what I mea n
by that.
The point is that I did know what the male of the species
sometimes needs for physical release and I had learned (twice,
with a good friend) how to provide it. Ricky looked so miserable,
and I was feeling such love for him, and I so wanted for him to
understand that his feelings and his body really were okay, and I
didn't think any the less of him -- all these feelings just sort
of came together in my mind all at once very strongly, and while
I held his gaze I sat down next to him, reached over his bent leg
and cupped my hand over his erection. It had shrunk a bit in his
embarrassment, I guess, but as I held it I felt it grow full
again, and Ricky straightened out his knee. His cock sort of
twitched irregularly, moving under my hand as I gently squeezed.
Ricky was looking seriously shocked, so I smiled and went,
"Shhhh!"
God. After two years of keeping all this to myself it feels very
strange to be writing it out in detail like this so others can
read about it. Even more weird, it's making me feel itchy. Horny.
This can't be normal, but I'm going to have to pull down my pants
and relieve myself before I soak my clothes. Amazing.
Anyhow, to get on with it.
"Ricky," I told him as softly as I could so Jody wouldn't wake
up, "this is a normal thing for a boy to feel. I know you need
relief sometimes, and you can't do it for yourself right now. It
must be very uncomfortable. But I know how to help you feel
better. May I? Would you mind?"
While I babbled all that sex-ed-lecture type stuff he was
watching me. His face looked very intense.
"Are you sure you want to?" he asked, and I smiled and nodded.
"Oh, Gin, it's so great, I'm so frustrated, if you'd do that for
me... are you sure?" He was babbling too.
I looked down at where I was gently kneading his rigid cock
through his p.j.'s, and I think I caught my breath. There was a
small, wet spot in the cloth, where the end of his cock was
located. I looked up at him briefly -- he was watching me from
between his suspended arms -- then hooked my hands over his p.j.
bottoms at each side of his hips and pulled down on them. Ricky
raised up slightly to help and I pulled his pajama bottoms down
below his knees, leaning back to do so. Then I sat back up and
reached o ver to touch him. His cock was standing up in the air,
moving back and forth with his heartbeat, and I couldn't take my
eyes away from it. He was absolutely gorgeous. And compelling. I
was mesmerized.
The thing is, this wasn't a heavy grope session in the dark, in
some boy's father's car at the end of a date. This was on top of
a bed, with the light on, and no one else in the house but my
sleeping little sister. Ricky's cock just looked incredibly
beautiful to me -- longer than the width of my hand by a couple
or three inches (I guess that made it about 6 inches long) and
perfectly proportioned; maybe on the slim side compared to Tom,
but that's how Ricky's whole body was built, so it seemed just
right. It had veins sticking out on its surface and a reddish
head on the end with just a hint of moisture around the small
opening slit. It stood up there, waving around, and took my
breath away.
I don't know if guys have any idea what power they have over
females with that member of theirs, or maybe it's just me, but
the effect of seeing Ricky's fully engorged penis -- his phallus
-- was electric. It was as if all my circuits were suddenly
running on double voltage. My breathing was out of control, my
crotch was begging me to masturbate, and I was utterly
enthralled.
I guess you can tell, the sight burned itself into my memory.
When I reached over to grasp Ricky's cock, my hand fit
comfortably around it, overlapping a little. As I squeezed, it
jerked against my hand, and when I stroked my hand upward toward
the head the way Tom had taught me, moisture appeared at the end
and spread downward to my fingers. I reached my left hand over to
rub my finger around in it; it felt warm and slick. When I
circled my fingertip around to the underside of his cock, where
the head flared out slightly to the side and then swept up toward
the slit at the end, Ricky groaned and hunched his hips up toward
my hand. I could tell it felt very good to him; lord knows it was
making my own world intense.
My hormones must have been in flood stage by then. I could see
and pay attention to everything I did to Ricky, I could see the
physical details of how he was built, how his testicles hung down
against his crotch and where his butt started down below that,
and I could see a sort of hint of his anus hidden away down
there. Most of all, I could clearly see what happened when I did
certain things to him, and all this made me a bit crazy. One time
I glanced up to his face and saw Ricky gazing back down with his
eyes half shut, watching the action, but I didn't look up long
enough even to smile or anything. I just looked right back down
at his wonderful, full cock and at what I was doing to it and how
Ricky was responding.
"Jeannie, I'm getting close," he said (his voice was even a bit
hoarse!) so I stroked my right hand up and down faster. Then,
pausing but not letting go of him, I moved over on the bed so my
left knee rested outside of his right leg and my right knee was
between his legs. It gave me a more direct view of his cock and
his testicle sack. Tim Allen says a guy's ball sack -- okay, his
scrotum, but that's such an ugly word -- looks like leftover
elbow skin, and it does, kind of, but it's awfully sexy just the
sa me.
Anyway, I reached over with my left hand to lift his balls while
I stroked his erection with my right, and the tips of my left
hand fingers, pressing lightly against the skin behind where his
ball sack joined his body, could feel his muscles contract every
now and then. From this and from his hip action I figured he was
about to let loose with his semen, like Tom had done. When I
scratched lightly at the skin behind his balls he moaned softly,
so I stroked up and down faster with my right hand and kept scra
tching lightly, up and down behind his ball sack, with my other
hand. This provoked a more intense moan, and he started hunching
his hips up and down. It was fascinating and wonderful to watch.
I guess it was too intense to last -- Ricky started to spurt, and
I could feel each jet of semen moving against my fingers inside
his cock (!), just before it pulsed out of the little slit on the
end. My left hand fingers, resting against Ricky's crotch behind
his balls, could feel the muscles there contract with each spurt.
I hadn't noticed any of that with Tom, but then everything about
this was different from anything before. By now I was moving my
own hips back and forth, rubbing myself against Ricky's leg; it
was so compulsive that it still makes me blush to recall. But I
needed the release and had a little orgasm myself as Ricky shot
out his semen.
He must have spurted strongly 4 or 5 times, not counting the
little in-between "spurtlets." I can still see it clearly in my
mind. His first really strong pulse was incredible -- it went
clear up to his face, landed on his right cheek next to his nose,
and left a glistening string of semen down over his lips and chin
onto his chest bandages and the towel. As I continued stroking he
kept spurting with decreasing energy until finally his penis
started getting softer and smaller in my hand.
Unlike with Tom I didn't want to let go right away, but Ricky
sort of pulled away, murmuring: "Too hard, Gin, take it easier,"
so I tried to make my hand motions less urgent. Guided by Ricky's
hip movements and soft vocal sounds, I moved my hand against him
gently until finally he lowered his hips all the way back down
and I knew he was finished. This is how I learned it hurts a boy
to stroke his penis too hard when he is almost done ejaculating,
but feels good to him if you rub gently at the underside, jus t
below the head. I guess the nerves there are concentrated but not
oversensitive. Male physiology is very strange sometimes.
Interesting, but strange.
"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Ricky," I told
him, and meant it. "I love you." Then on impulse (and I guess a
bit lewdly) I leaned up to kiss him on the mouth briefly, with my
mouth slightly open so I could wipe my tongue over his mouth
where his semen had landed. I just wanted to taste it for some
reason. It tasted interesting and okay, a bit like raw shellfish
but more subtle, I thought. I liked it. Or maybe what I liked was
knowing where it came from and that I had caused it. Ricky-jui
ce, courtesy of Jeannie. Anyhow, after I kissed him I used the
towel to wipe up the rest of his semen. It had shot all over the
place and had collected in little puddles here and there, mostly
on his belly.
"Ricky, are you okay that I did that for you?" I asked him. I was
a little worried and guilty, I mean incest is a strong taboo, but
his eyes were wide open and steady, and he just gazed at me and
nodded his head. I have always loved his steady gaze. "I'll come
back and do it again if you want me to, until you get well," I
told him.
"Jeannie, I love you. I really do," he said. I smiled at him and
got up to warm the washcloth that had started all this, and
washed him off again before pulling his p.j.'s back up. I put the
new sheet and blanket over him, kissed him on the mouth again
quickly, and left.
Did I mention this episode wasn't entirely noble of me? I ran
back to my room, dropped my pants, lay down and rubbed myself to
another orgasm, a big one that felt like it lasted about 10
minutes. God it was intense. The sight of that beautiful cock
spurting semen all the way up to Ricky's face just wouldn't leave
my mind, and I had to release my own energies several times more
before I could even get to sleep that night.
The next morning was the same -- I masturbated to images of
Ricky's erupting cock and memories of how his semen tasted as
soon as I woke up, and since it was a Saturday, I repeated the
process two or three times during the day, just about every time
I went to the bathroom, in fact. I just couldn't seem to get over
it.
That night, Mom went to bed early and Jody stayed over at a
friend's house, so about a half hour after the house went dark I
snuck into Ricky's room again.
"Ricky," I whispered.
"Yeah, hi Jeannie," he whispered back.
"Would you like me to do it for you again? Would you mind? I
really want to," I whispered, and sat down on the bed by him. I
guess I was past trying to be subtle or act noble about it -- I
just wanted a repeat of the night before!
"Jeannie, I was scared you wouldn't want to anymore. I was afraid
you would hate yourself. Or hate me. Or wish it had never
happened." He sounded very tense, so I smiled and rested my hand
on his stomach, on top of the blanket. "I would do anything not
to hurt you," he told me, "but you can't know how much it meant
to me. It felt so good and I'm so alone in here. I love you so
much."
He was starting to babble again, but I didn't mind. I just moved
my hand around in circles on his stomach and watched his face. He
may be my brother, but at that moment, in the shadowy light from
the street outside, he looked more beautiful to me than any human
has a right to be, with eagerness and fear and a shy smile
chasing each other across his face. I simply loved him. Totally.
"If you don't really want to that's alright. But if you're okay
with it, if you're sure -- I would love it," he whispered. "I
love you, Jeannie" he added, and I'm sure he meant it, because I
loved him at that moment too, and I told him so. There was
something wonderful about the trust and intimacy of it.
I got up and locked his door (we all got door locks as kids as
soon as we could be trusted not to lock ourselves in by accident
-- it was Mom's statement of respect for our privacy). Then I
switched on his reading lamp so I could see him better. He was
watching me, his eyes glistening. I could hear him breathing
faster, and I guess I was puffing a bit, too.
Gazing at his face, I squatted down by the bed and reached my arm
down under the blanket to his p.j. bottoms, then under the
elastic and down to his penis. It was already hard, so I reached
under it and sort of flipped it over, so it lay up along his
stomach, and stroked it gently up and down, putting light
pressure on the underside of it. When he sighed, I leaned up
under his elevated arm and kissed him on his mouth. His lips were
open so I opened mine too, and his tongue strayed hesitantly into
my mouth. I played my own tongue against his, and it turned into
a deep, lingering kiss as I rubbed his cock under the covers. It
was very intense.
When we broke the kiss, I whispered, "I want to see you," and
moved to pull down the blanket and sheet. I then pulled his
pajamas down; as before, he raised his hips to help. Once again I
was treated to the sight of his erect cock standing up, pulsing
in time to his heartbeat. And again it was a powerful and
beautiful sight.
I moved onto the bed and knelt below his crotch, this time with
both knees between his legs. This forced his legs farther apart
than they had been the previous night and I had a better view of
his physiology as I stroked him. When he raised his knees a
little and moved them farther apart, it was even better. I was
fascinated at the way his crotch pulsed just before I felt his
cock move in my hand and a little bit of fluid would dribble out
-- but not really dribble, more like just moisture spreading from
th e end.
I reached over with my left hand to rub the liquid into his skin
on the underside, where the head joined the main body of it, the
upper shaft, where the night before I had learned he was
sensitive. He moaned softly at that, and the sound felt so
energizing and intense I could hardly stand it. On impulse, I
leaned over and licked the underside of his cock, starting down
by his balls and moving up to the head. It tasted strongly of his
semen up by the head, a bit less neutral than I remembered from
the previo us night, somewhat saltier. First drops, I suppose.
Delicious.
"My god, Jeannie - oh my god, that feels good," he moaned. So I
moved my right hand down to the base of his cock, lifted his
balls with my left hand, and took his cock right into my mouth.
It was the first time I had ever done that. All I had ever heard
about it was a few giggling remarks about "eating" from my girl
friends and a mention or two of oral sex in sex-ed class. I don't
even know why I did it.
But I did do it, and I liked it. Boys can't know the delicious,
sinful sense of power a girl can get from running her mouth up
and down on a hard cock, knowing she is in control, knowing that
the tube of hard-but-soft flesh in her mouth is concentrating the
boy's every sensation into a final explosion, and she is the
cause of it. I doubt if even gay males can share that feeling
since they have the same physiology as their partner. As a female
I got a sense of control over powerful but dimly understood force
s that made my blood race. It was my first experience of that
exhilaration.
As Ricky's cock throbbed in my mouth he started hunching his hips
up at my face. I removed my right hand from his cock and put it
down on the bed by his hip so I could put my weight on it and
move my head up and over his cock more. By raising my body and
then lowering my head so my hair fell down on his stomach, I
could take as much of him into my mouth as possible without
physical discomfort. I think I took most of him in, right into my
throat, and it didn't even choke me, I was so excited! Then he
started to spurt, once again in a series of powerful jets that
this time I felt against the back of my throat. There was a kind
of vibration to it as the fluid spurted out against my tissues.
As this happened, Ricky was hunching his cock up and down in my
mouth so I kept my head still and just circled my tongue against
the underside of his cock as he moved, to let him pace his own
release. I guess about a quarter cup of his semen must have gon e
down my throat as I kept swallowing while he gushed. He was
groaning a nd saying my name over and over. It was wonderful.
As his ejaculation finished, his cock shrank and I had him
entirely inside my mouth. I moved my tongue around on the
underside gently while I scratched around some more, lightly,
behind his balls. This provoked more twitching inside my mouth as
he hunched his hips up at me, though I don't know if any more
semen came out or if it was just residual feel-goods. I never
have figured that out. Anyhow, his cock finally stopped
twitching. I held him against the roof of my mouth with my tongue
for awhile longer, un til I was sure he had finished, then I
removed his cute little soft penis from my mouth, kissed its
head, pulled up his p.j.'s, covered him with a blanket,
whispered, "I have to go now," and hurried out of the room.
Where I went was to my own room for a series of crashing orgasms
while I fingered and manipulated and rubbed myself, sometimes in
ways I had never tried before -- I even put a finger up my own
butt during one climax. I was quite shameless. It was terrific.
For the next few weeks, until his casts came off, I went into
Ricky's room almost every night after everyone else was asleep.
Sometimes I used my hands on him but more often I used my mouth;
each time, I drained him of semen and then ran back to my room
to, let's say, watch an instant replay in my mind as I released
my own pent-up energies. Some of those encounters were memorable.
One time I got back late from a school dance and Ricky was
already asleep when I went in. I snuck my head and arms under the
covers, carefully maneuvered his soft penis through the opening
in the front of his pajamas, put it into my mouth and gently
sucked on it. The sensation woke Ricky up, and it thrilled me to
feel how quickly he went from soft to hard, right there inside my
mouth. Maybe because of the surprise, he lasted longer than usual
that night, building gradually to his climax without any wild hum
ping or such; he just let me control the pace. I loved it.
There is no way I can fool myself into thinking I did that to
Ricky as he slept in order to help him meet an immediate physical
need. He was fast asleep. I did it because I loved it, and I
loved him, and he loved to have me do it. I remember looking up
at his face while I bobbed my head up and down on him and licked
around the base of his balls and suckled at him -- I did pretty
much everything I could think of, in fact, while I watched his
face -- and he watched me back with his eyes half shut and a
tender smile on his face. Since he was being so passive, I
dragged things out as long as I could, until finally I was the
one who couldn't stand it anymore. Then I triggered his orgasm by
moving my mouth up and down on him faster and scratching lightly
between his legs from the base of his balls back to his anus.
Touching his anus popped him off like a rocket, I remember: He
made a strangled moaning sound and started humping wildly up at
me and jetting his semen into my throat. I drank him down and ran
to my room for a mental replay.
Another time, at his request, I got completely naked and let him
look at my body. He said I was beautiful, and for that moment I
did feel beautiful, but also shy for some reason. He liked my
boobs a lot, although they are not very big. I showed him how my
nipples get hard when I stroke and pull on them, and then I
straddled his chest, kneeling, and parted myself with my fingers
so he could see how I'm built sexually. My clitoris was swelling
right out there wanting attention, and when I pointed it out he
sa id it looked like a little excited nubbin. I put a finger up
into my vagina so he could see how slick and wet it gets inside
of me. (Yes, I was very turned on.) I let him lick and suck my
finger after, which he was eager to do! Finally, I stroked myself
to an intense orgasm while he watched. His eyes were wide, his
head was up off the pillow, and I don't think he blinked the
whole time. Yow, did I erupt! With his arms up on ropes, watching
was about all the participation he could manage -- other than
letti ng me take care of his physical needs afterwards. It made
him incredibly excited: After I stroked myself to climax right in
front of his face, I scooted down on the bed to take him into my
mouth, and he started spurting just about as soon as I closed my
mouth around him. It felt like he gushed half a cup of semen down
my throat that time! I only got naked for him the one time,
though, because I was afraid Mom might wake up and knock at the
door, and also, like I said, it made me feel self conscious.
After Ricky's casts came off he invited me into his room again
one night but I told him he could take care of his own needs now.
I told him when we both got older and knew more, we might decide
to make love again, but for now we had better stop. He never
pushed me about it, though he always had a smile ready when I
looked his way or smiled at him. At the end of that school year I
graduated and went on to college early for Summer session. (I had
to earn a scholarship to go to college, and I take it very seri
ously.)
I'm on the pill now, and have "gone all the way" with several
very nice guys; but for excitement I'm afraid they were nothing
to write about, even though they were all built bigger than Ricky
in the cock department. Of course, Ricky was barely 15, so who
knows if he was finished growing yet, down there... Ultimately,
and I know this is a cliche, but it's true -- I really don't care
whether Ricky's cock has grown larger over the last few years. He
was beautiful just the way he was, and that's what I want to
remember. I don't think I'd like it much if he grew a gargantuan,
swollen, outlandish member like some kind of primitive carved
potency fetish. To borrow a metaphor I saw used here, I'll leave
the horses to other horses. (Or is that a simile?)
Anyhow, when I go home for Thanksgiving at the end of next week I
guess I will offer to renew my physical acquaintance with Ricky
-- I mean with Rich; the name change will take some getting used
to -- if I can do it without damaging him emotionally. I know the
experience won't hurt me. Reliving those early sexual contacts in
this note has reminded me that I got as much out of it as he did,
and I suspect getting physical again now that he can participate
fully should either let us both achieve closure or giv e us
something wonderful to guard and treasure and use carefully into
the future.
Wow. I just realized how important that is, the fact that I trust
him to be as careful with me as I will be with him. I actually
trust him completely. I saw trust mentioned in someone else's
note on the subject of incest, but the importance of it just now
sank in. Trust, and love, and acceptance.
Now I really do want to find out if Ricky, I mean Rich, wants to
give it another go. I guess I'll try to get him alone long enough
to let it happen if it wants to. When I get back here to school
after Thanksgiving I'll write again to tell how it comes out.
(Assuming I don't lose my courage and wuss out.) Now I have to go
relieve some physical stresses of my own while thinking about
Ricky. About Rich. Wow. I'm absolutely soaked again.
THE END