So, back to our thirteenth birthday. I got a Polaroid; she got a bikini.
I know my use of a lot of first person plurals seemed to imply we had that near-incestuous twin thing going… nope. She couldn’t stand me. We were night and day, but I think a lot of it was also that me (and dad in his private moments) were probably not as discreet as we thought we were, for lack of a better word, ogling her.
Mom noticed it too. Now, most moms, when dads seem to be ignoring that whole “that’s your kid” thing, will at least say, “hey, that’s your kid, not some teeny-bopper at the mall” or get the guy into counseling. The same would go for sons forgetting that that little girl he shares parents with is his sister, but anyway…
But not my mom. No, Marisol decided to COMPETE. She worked out more, also took to wearing what her daughter wore. They couldn’t physically share a wardrobe, since mom had about forty more pounds on her and was BUILT, like double-C tits and, what one might call, a spankable, grabable ass.
So, every day, I had two hot chicks prancing around the house in barely there outfits. Even when dad wasn’t home. Janie and her little friends, equally barely dressed, took to walking through the neighborhood flirting with anyone with a dick and mom spent a lot of time in the front yard, “gardening” in Home & Garden approved shorts and bikini tops.
I had a corner bedroom with a great view of the mom’s garden and got quite a few shots of her.
When Janie wasn’t turning men into pedophiles, she laid out in our “private” back yard. This time, I had a good vantage point from the kitchen, but there was an even better spot.
The yard was surrounded by an old eight-foot privacy fence. In one of the eight-foot slats was an eight-inch missing section, hard to see for the thick brush around it. From there, it was ten feet to where Janie often laid her towel. At that distance, I was still able to make out the glistening oil on her skin and the tiny beads of sweat trickling down her thighs and waist.
Mom worked during the day and I was usually out and about, so Janie thought she was alone that one Wednesday after our birthday.
She came out as always with her Walkman and lotions and towel. She spread the towel on the grass and… took off her top. I almost dropped the camera. By the time I had juggled it into place and somehow managed to snap off a clear photo, she dropped her bottoms, exposing her hairless slit.
She laid down and I could hear her moan as the soft breeze caressed her hard nipples. Her left hand found her pussy and she began to rub it, moaning louder as she finger-fucked herself. Until then, there was always a slight twinge of guilt for wanting to fuck my sister. That was gone now.
I must have snapped snapped dozen of pictures of not just Janie, but also her little teeny-bopper friends, my mom and various other neighborhood hotties. Gotta hand it to the South, we raise’em right good.
The agents are nodding. No doubt, they’ve looked though my computer and found my collection and probably the oriiginals too with my fingerprints all over them. Add kiddie porn to the list.