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Screw It

by Dr Scribble

I don't know what's got into my sister. Since being a kid, she's been a tomboy, into climbing trees, making bows and arrows (when she 'discovered' the Legend of Robin Hood, and wanted to be as good as Maid Marian). She suffered the bumps and scrapes all children get, along with me and my best mate, Alan; and our mother would patiently wash our wounds, dab them with antiseptic, and apply sticking plasters.

This last six months, since she turned fourteen, Ellie has been coming to me with her woes. I'm two years older than she is, which is quite a lot of growing at that stage in one's life. There has been less need for sticking plaster and more for sorting out some of the strange ideas which seem to be filling her head these days. I wouldn't care, but there have been other, physical, changes in her — and me, for that matter — which make me uncomfortable after only minutes in her company. Especially when she does her usual thing and sits on my knee while we talk.

The other day, while Mum and Dad had gone into town to spend the shopping vouchers they'd received for Christmas, she'd been sunbathing out in the back garden. She decided this year that a tan was important, despite my telling her about the dangers of too much sun causing the skin to age prematurely. Anyway, Alan and I were wearing only shorts, because of the heat, watching cricket on the television, when she came trotting in wearing a very skimpy bikini in yellow cotton and plonked herself down on my lap, wrapping one arm nonchalantly round my shoulders.

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My Sister's Model Life

by Robert

I pumped and I pumped, my hand surrounding and moving quickly along the full length of my stiff erection as I sat on my sister's bed jerking off.

In my mind I ran images of naked women, though mainly my sister, and I wondered how it would feel to be inside her, to make love to her, something Mom probably wouldn't care to let me do, or even know I was thinking.

I turned to where Mom was sitting in the chair beside the bed, watching me masturbate. My sister Kerri was laying on her stomach beside me, casually flipping through pages in some fashion magazine.

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Cutting The Mustard

by Anonymous

My mother's favorite cousin was Serena. When they were young, they lived on the same block and were best friends. They did everything together. They even lost their cherries on the same double date in the old drive-in movies.

But after high school, their lives took different directions. Mom married an intellectual whose vocation was office work, but other than performing his connubial duties, he spent countless hours at the bar, telling war stories. (Yes, at least he served his country when needed - I'll give him that.)

Serena married an adventurer, fresh out of the Marines, but he didn't have time for taverns, nor did he care to rehash the war. What he did care for was oil wildcatting. He had just enough time to give Serena two children before he was killed at a well explosion. Mom was so devastated for Serena, who never remarried - no one could measure up to her Greg.

When Serena moved back to our state (from Oklahoma to New York), she settled close enough to visit often with her mother at a private lake where our mom often brought us to see Aunt Alma (Serena's mother).

As a result, we kids were a constant summer foursome, all within two years of each other in age. Serena's children were Terrence (Terry) and Lisa, Lisa being two years younger than her brother.

I (Pete) was Terry's age, but my sister Katherine (Kitty) was only one year younger than Terry and me.

As we grew toward puberty, we made physical discoveries among ourselves (playing doctor), and it was before any of us had been given the "speech". Somehow, perhaps because of the guilty feelings this engendered, we knew enough to keep what we did a secret among ourselves.

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