To this day, I’ve no idea what prompted me – or gave me the courage – to do what I did next. Apart from, I guess, the hormones that were raging inside me.
But, as I observed this small bird, nibbling on our garden treats, I moved my hand down and started to cup Sally’s buttocks. Gently and tentatively at first. But, clearly, it was a sexual act. Particularly as I got a little bolder.
Nowadays, in the age of Me Too, I wonder if I’d have been prepared to take that risk? Though I guess with the amount of misogynistic porn that’s available, I may have been more influenced the other way. And been a little more forceful?
Either way, that point is moot. As there I was, with my hand caressing (if you were being kind) or clumsily groping (if you were being more accurate) my step-sister’s arse. And it really did seem to be a very fine arse indeed. Though, at that time, I had absolutely nothing to compare it to.
Sally froze. But said, or did, nothing to stop me. Though, and I wondered if I was imagining this, I thought I heard her gasp. Albeit almost imperceptibly. I also wondered if it were my imagination, but she seemed to lean a little closer to me.
After what seemed like several minutes, but was probably no more than 30 seconds, my nerve failed me. And I, albeit reluctantly, pulled my hand away.
I’d said nothing so far. In fact I was, initially, incapable of speech. My mouth was dry and my heart was pumping. I turned and prepared to race to my room in shock and embarrassment. But, looking back at Sally, I finally found my voice. Stuttering out, in an unbelievably gauche way.
“Thank you Sally, that was lovely,” blushing furiously as I said this. And cringing at how awful it sounded, as soon as the words left my mouth.
“That’s OK,” she replied quietly, as I turned and fled.
Closing the door firmly behind me in my room I was a maelstrom of emotions: worry that I’d completely over-stepped the mark and violated my sister; concern that she’d tell our parents and I’d be in huge trouble; embarrassment that I’d behaved so clumsily and naively; but also arousal, that I’d got to feel/grope such a gorgeous arse; and finally optimism, from Sally’s reply (and her manner), that it might just be possible, and possibly even welcomed, for me to repeat the act.
That night at dinner conversation between us was stilted. But I don’t think our parents noticed, as were often subdued. We’d have occasional debates about all manner of things. But could, just as often, be introspective and reserved.
As soon as my light was off in bed, later that evening, my hand was on my cock. And I was masturbating furiously. Fantasising that I’d pulled Sally’s tracksuit and knickers down and fucked over the sink! I was so turned on I brought myself off twice, in very quick succession, before I was able to sleep.
A day later, it seemed likely that Sally wasn’t about to report me for “sexual assault” to our parents. In fact, if anything, after some initial awkwardness, she seemed warmer towards me. In, of course, her own reserved way. So I determined to see if I had the nerve to repeat the act.
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