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Introduction:

The story of a third son who comes of age....
I disabled the comments from this story on purpose. I am growing weary of the spam attached to every story. I do enjoy feedback and urge you to pm me if you want to discuss anything you liked or disliked with the story. Please understand. David.


I was born the third son of a six child family. After me came the three girls. I had the all the ignominy being a middle child without the additional benefit of being the first girl or the baby. My two older brothers were five and two years older. My sisters were one, four and six years younger. After baby sister Charlotte was born, our parents started to argue. Occasional disagreements became nightly rows. Tension was high in our house as we kids didn’t want to spark any animosity and we had no idea what would set our mother and father off. I suppose it was because our father was a blue collar construction worker, working six and seven days a week during the spring, summer, and fall, but having most of the winter free because it was too wet to work. He spent his free time drinking with his friends and coworkers at the local tavern, leaving my mother to raise a brood of six children year round on very little dependable income and even less spousal support. Other than making children, our parents seemed to have little in common.

It became too much for my mother and she told my father to leave for good among the screaming and the tears. I was in the third grade. My two older brothers had already started down the wrong path, and the sudden absence of their only male role model made it worse. When my mother got a job as a waitress to support us, my older brothers were supposed to be helping around the house. As soon as my mother would leave for work each night, they would disappear as well, so it fell on me to care for my three younger siblings. At 9 years old I was cooking meals, changing and washing diapers, changing their clothes and doing laundry, giving the girls their baths, cleaning the house and making sure everyone got to bed on time. I even read to my sisters at night to help calm their fears and put them to sleep. Don’t get the wrong idea; it’s a small wonder how my sisters and I survived. I was fortunate enough to be too naïve to be afraid.

Meanwhile my older brothers were out smoking cigarettes, doing drugs, running with much older boys, and committing crimes like and breaking and entering. When Chris, the eldest at fifteen was caught in the home of a police officer trying to steal the man’s television, he was shot and killed. My other brother, Gabe was there, but was never punished for his part in the attempted burglary. Gabe really went off the deep end after that. He ran away from home for weeks. When he was finally apprehended in Washington State, he’d been living on the street and looked pretty bad. He went to juvenile hall, then reform school, then to some kind of live away camp. Nothing worked. He ended up living with our dad up in the woods when the system spit him out, but his drug habit and anger with the world was too much for a twelve year old to kick, and nobody seemed to give a damn. He ran away again. A couple years later, at fourteen, he was found beaten, raped and strangled in Seattle. No one knew where he had been, but it was obvious his life had been pretty hard. My parents never even claimed the body, and he lies in a pauper’s grave somewhere in Washington State.

Meanwhile I was back at home, taking care of the girls and now our mother because she was barely holding it together. Before Gabe was found murdered, she twice attempted suicide by swallowing all of her sleeping pills. But both times she regretted it before she passed out, called an ambulance and stayed in the hospital for a week to get some respite from her responsibilities. There wasn’t any safety net for her to fall back on. Her own family pretty much disowned her for getting pregnant in high school. Any chance she had at reconciliation died with her divorce. We never heard much about either of our parent’s families.

When mom was in the hospital, I’d be at home for a day or more before our father would finally show up and stay with us until she got back again. He had even less experience being a father than I did; he couldn’t even change a diaper. He never even tried. He just sat in the living room watching our snowy black and white TV and drank beer until he fell asleep. As a result, I remained the primary parent for my three little sisters for the next four years. By the time I was eleven, girls didn’t hold any mysteries for me. I knew what they looked like when they had their clothes off, partly off, on backwards, the wrong sizes, and when they were sick, happy, wet, cold or feverish. They weren’t sexy or attractive; they were whiny, smelly, irritating little pains in the ass. But I loved them dearly and would do anything to protect them.

Without any other help, the eldest girl Amy was my best support. Just a year younger than I, we were a lot closer in temperament than any of our other siblings. We mostly worked together to get the two youngest girls fed and to bed and then I had to put Amy to bed each night as she would try to weasel her way into staying up with me until our mother got home. Mom didn’t get home some nights until one or two AM and I would be asleep on the living room couch, so I didn’t think it was good for Amy to try and stay up. I felt like I was being responsible when I put her to bed anyway, even when she protested. So each night I would kiss each of my sisters good night, as if I could somehow replace their father and mother. I’d tuck the blankets in tight, and leave their doorway cracked and the hall light on so they could take comfort from its glow. When they cried out in the darkness, it was always my name on their lips.

Amy was really my best and only friend and I leaned on her whenever the burden of being the man of the house got to be too much. But mostly I went to school, did my work, and came home and raised my sisters. It was the only life I knew and I clung to it in the hopes that things would work out, that somehow they would get better.

When Charlotte finally started kindergarten, mother decided she would finish her education. She’d left high school to marry dad after she had gotten pregnant with Chris. She took classes at the community college to graduate high school and then enrolled in courses to become a court reporter, a career she stayed with the rest of her life. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid much better than waitressing and it allowed her to work during the day while we were in school. Money was never abundant, but now we were able to afford a movie once in a while and eating out for each of our birthdays. Still, the girls wouldn’t go to sleep until I tucked them in. The girls and I had grown pretty close over the years we were raising ourselves while our mother struggled with grief, divorce, being a single mother. So mother would cook and get them bathed and then if fell on me to read to them and tuck them in and kiss them good night. I don’t know if my mother ever resented me for it. After the violent loss of her two oldest sons and the terrible marriage, I honestly think she took solace in the idea that if something happened to her, I’d still be there for the girls. And I would have.

Right before my fourteenth birthday, our mother decided we should move to Utah. She took a new job in the federal court house and our family could all make a new start. Though I had few friends in Oregon to leave behind, in Utah we were pariahs. A single mother in the early seventies wasn’t common. The girls and I were constantly ridiculed in school and bullies tried to push us around. I avoided the bullies whenever they came at me, but if one decided to pick on my little sisters, they faced a wrath of biblical proportions. Within a few weeks any chance I had for making friends was gone. I had gone from a maturing teen to a menace to anyone whose last name wasn’t Paul. I hated Utah. I hated Salt Lake City. I hated my school. I hated everything about everything. I began to look for reasons to let my anger fly. Life had dealt us a raw hand. Life had dealt ME a raw hand. I was taking out my anger and frustration on anyone who dared defy me. I managed to maintain control in the classroom, avoiding more than stern warnings. But after school, when the teachers weren’t around, anyone who made a snide remark or committed a minor offense during the school day suddenly found themselves as the object of my abuse. More than once I beat other kids up for nothing more egregious than making a joke with me in it. After a time, everyone gave me a wide berth. Even the teachers would avoid calling on me in class. I became untouchable.

Amy was the only person who could shake me out of my rages, which I realized much later were the pent up frustration of the years of my childhood that were stolen by my parent’s divorce and the deep seated abandonment issues stemming from my mother’s suicide attempts, the divorce and the sudden deaths of my brothers. It was a nightly routine that mother would have to warn me against my temper. She grew tired of my same old excuses that I never started it and that our being picked on was really HER fault. If she hadn’t made our dad leave, no one would pick on us at all. We wouldn’t have had to leave Oregon for this backwater place where old men marry little girls, cousins have children and we were outcasts. After a night that ended with me storming into my room and slamming the door and throwing myself on the floor because I was so frustrated with my mother who I needed to be on my side but seemed to be chastising me more and listening less. My rage was compounded by puberty and all the changes my body was going through. I had no one to explain anything to me. I wasn’t about to talk to my mother and there wasn’t a single person in Utah that I trusted with my phone number, let alone my deepest fears.

So there I was, lying on my back in my room, angry at the entire world. Feeling my body rage and contort. My legs were sore all the time from the growth spurt. My lip and chin were sporting these noticeable hairs. My pubic triangle was curly and dark. My dick had the habit of getting hard at nearly every chance it could to embarrass me. I wasn’t observant enough to notice that every boy my age was suffering from the same angst and hormones. Some of the girls as well.

My sister Amy joined me in the darkness. “David? Are you ok?” she said from the doorway.

“Go away. I just want to be left alone.”

“David, I just want to talk for a minute. Please.” She used the voice that always got her what she wanted.

She crossed the room and knelt down by the top of my head, the light from the hallway illuminating half of her face. She put her hands on my cheeks and stroked my face. I could feel the tension melting away. Her touch was warm and loving, just like I imagined my mother’s touch would be if she ever just reached out to me. Amy was wearing her pink cotton baby doll nightie with the frilly pink panties that matched. All of the girls wore this kind of nightwear to bed. Amy leaned over and kissed my forehead, allowing the front of her nightie to gap open. Even in the low light I could see her tiny breasts under her top and found myself hardening at the sight. I immediately felt guilty. I wasn’t supposed to be attracted to my own sister. This caused me even more anxiety.

“You are scaring me David. You are so angry all the time. This isn’t like you. You have always been the calm one, the one that we lean on when we are scared. Now Lynelle and Charlotte are scared of you when you get like this.”

“I’m sorry Amy,” and I began to tear up. I was angry and frustrated and confused. I had no idea how to handle anything anymore. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be like this. It’s just that I can’t help it. No matter what I do. Nothing helps. Everyone hates me.”

“Not everyone David. We love you. I love you.” She leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.

“It’s okay David. It’s okay. It will all work out. Things will get better. It won’t be like this all the time.”

She shifted around until she could lie down next to me. She snuggled up against me and put her cheek on my shoulder and her hand on my chest. I put my arms around her and hugged her tight. The anger was pretty well gone. Even the growth pains had subsided. As I relaxed, I became acutely aware of the swelling of her small breast pressing against the side of my chest. I relaxed my hug and let my hand drop down her back until I accidently grazed her buttocks, not really intending to. The touch of her butt, the curves of her globes, the dip of the crease between her cheeks, it was electrifying. I stiffened. My young cock was so hard it throbbed. Amy didn’t react. To her it must have seemed like just an innocent accident. We lay like that for a long time. Amy’s breathing changed. She had fallen asleep. I turned to look down on her; her face mostly in shadow from the light behind her. I thought she looked like an angel. I slid my arm out from under her, just a little. Allowing me to reach up on my bed and grab my pillow and blanket. I used the pillow to bat the door nearly closed, then I wedged it under my head and covered us both with the blanket. The added warmth pulled Amy closer. I just relaxed, enjoying the warmth of her body, the smell of her hair, the sound of her breathing. All of my worries melted away. Under the blanket I let my hand rest on her hip. I could feel the waist elastic of her panties through the thin cotton nightie. Carefully I traced it around to her stomach and then around her back until I could reach no further. After ten minutes of this tender exploration, I slid my hand down her hip to the seam that encircled her right leg. I traced this edge only a little ways toward her pussy before chickening out and then sliding it back around her hip and across that wonderful curve of her eleven year old butt. Her breathing changed and I jerked my hand away. What I was doing was wrong, I was certain. But it felt so good and my cock was so hard I didn’t care.

Amy rolled onto her back, but then she slid over closer to me again. Thinking that I had not awakened her, I waited until her breathing was deep again and then I slowly edged my hand over to her hip again. When she had rolled over, her nightie had risen up and now the bottom hem was above her panties. My next contact was skin on skin. She was so soft and so warm and I wanted this moment to go on forever.

I was falling in love with my little sister. She was the only member of my family I could count on. Her voice made me relax. Her touch made me excited. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. And I realized there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to her. I was fourteen and confused, but I knew that I could solve some of my confusion if I could touch Amy like I wanted to. Now my movements had a purpose.

I traced the edge of her panties across her waist from hip to hip, pushing her nightie even higher. Then I traced the bottom of her rib cage, moving the fabric even higher. Then I slid my hand up the center of her chest to the indention at the top of her ribcage, under her chin. Her nightie had nearly been moved far enough to allow me to see the underside swelling of her tiny mounds. I guided the rest of the material higher, careful not to touch her breasts. When her nipples were exposed, my already hard dick made an involuntary jerk. It both shocked and pleasured me. Her nipples stuck up in the night, like erasers poking out of poker chips. Amy was an early developer. She was blessed with small cones at this age, not quite A-cups but much more than a flat chested adolescent. My fingers were quivering as I slowly let them come to rest on her chest beneath her breast. I spread my fingers until they were fully encircling her nipple. Then I closed the loop until I had her taut nipple between my thumb and forefinger. Her breathing changed and I immediately jerked my hand back. When her breathing returned to normal, I lowered my hand lightly onto her stomach. I could feel her belly rising with each breath. As she exhaled, I moved my hand lower until I contacted her panties again. Breathe in, freeze. Breathe out, slide it the hand down half an inch. I felt the swell of her mound under her panties. My touch was so light at this time, I was holding my breath. If Amy woke up, I don’t know what I’d say. I could feel the separation of her lips under my fingers. I didn’t dare go further. I swept my fingers back upward to her stomach. She didn’t move. I kept them moving upward, this time circling her other nipple. She squirmed and then relaxed. I paused for a moment and then started back down. This time I kept my hand on her left side, until I was dragging my fingertips down her leg. On the way north again, I slid them closer to her pussy and kept moving north her breasts. I circled them and then traveled down the right side. Back and forth, creeping between her legs, around her breasts and down the other side. I kept this up for several minutes before I pressed my luck. I was totally on my side, my hard cock grazing my sister’s thigh.

I started to guide her knees apart as I slid my hand down. This gave me the dual benefit of a more open target and more pressure against my cock. I started grazing her taut nipples with the pads of my fingers as I crossed from one side of her chest the other. When her legs were wide enough to give me access to her pussy, I started brushing the side of my hand against her crevice. I was certain she was getting warmer and wetter as I kept at it. I finally worked myself up to the certainty that I was going under her panties. If she woke up and screamed, it would be worth it in my mind. I looked up at her eyes. They seemed to be closed, but not all the way. I thought I could detect the barest reflection of the light from the hallway. Her breathing had changed, but she had given no overt indication that she was awake. On my way south instead of going down her leg, I slipped my fingertips under her waistband. I moved my hand back and forth slowly across her stomach, driving my fingers deeper with each pass. When I finally contacted those tiny curls of her new pubic mound, I stopped. I was ready to cum, I was so excited. I slowly slipped my hand down her mons until I could definitely feel the heat and wetness. Then I pressed. Amy’s hands flew down and gripped my wrist and her knees crashed together. No longer feigning sleep, she locked my finger between her tiny pussy lips. I had inadvertently pressed against her deliciously swollen clit, sending instant electricity throughout her entire nervous system. She didn’t scream, didn’t shout, didn’t let out much more than a guttural moan of pleasure.

I tried to withdraw my hand, but she wouldn’t allow it. So instead I wiggled my finger and this seemed to make her shudder. So I did it again. She did shudder. She stopped breathing. When her grip relaxed, I pressed my finger even deeper down her slit. She was so hot and wet. When I pulled my finger back up, it slid through the folds easily, making full contact with her clit and causing her to jerk. Her entire body arched around my finger as she had her first orgasm. Her thighs clamped down on my hand and her face was buried against my chest as she moaned and bucked. I kept my finger moving, which seemed to increase her enjoyment. Wiggle my finger, buck her hips, and listen to her moan. Wiggle my finger, buck her hips, and listen to her moan. We kept this up for several minutes until she finally forced my hand out of her panties and through her arms around my neck, kissing my face and eyes. Finally she rolled me on my back and mounted me, kissing me full on my lips.

“I didn’t know what you were doing when you started feeling my stomach, but I really liked it,” she gushed in a harsh whisper.

“You were awake?” I asked, wondering why she let me go so far.

“Of course. I could feel something in your shorts David. What was it?”

“That’s my boner,” I admitted. “It happens all the time now. I can’t help it.”

“Can I see it?” She threw her leg over and dismounted my stomach, looking down at my shorts covered waist. She expected to get what she wanted.

“I guess. But this is kind of wrong, don’t you ththink?”

“Only if we get caught silly. When was the last time mother came to check on us after we went to bed?”

“You might be right. If you really want to see it, I guess I can show you.”

“Don’t show me. Let me do it, OK?” She moved down between my legs and grabbed my cotton shorts at the hips. She tried to just pull them down, but that caused nothing but pain. My hard dick was fighting to stay pointed at my chin.

“Watch it. Be gentle. You have to lift them off over my dick. It hurts when you try to bend it down like that.”

“Sorry,” she giggled, moving her hands to the middle of my waistband and lifting my shorts clear of my dick so she could expose it. Out in the semi-darkness it twitched with the beat of my heart. “That is soooo cool! Can I? Can I uh, touch it?”

“I guess. Be careful, it’s really sensitive.” I was actually thrilled she wanted to touch it. I really wanted her to touch it.

“It’s so warm. It’s hard and soft at the same time.” She leaned over and smelled it. “Ohhh, it smells good too.” She gave it a squeeze and that was enough, I erupted in huge spurts all over my own chest and belly. One spurt even hit my cheek. Amy laughed. “That’s so funny! Why did it do that?”

“What do you expect when a pretty girl handles a man’s dick? You made me cum.”

“Did it hurt? Wait a second; did you just say I’m pretty?” She gave me a skeptical accusing look.

“Of course. You are the prettiest girl in our school. Don’t be a dummy, you know that.”

“I am not that pretty. I am just average to look at best. Don’t make fun of me.”

“Amy, I swear I am not making fun of you. You are absolutely beautiful. You are the Beauty and I am the Beast.” We both laughed. “But we can’t do this any more.”

“Why not?” she asked hurt.

“Amy, I can’t explain it. But if we do this again, things might happen that we can’t undo. Trust me. It’s just safer for both of us if we try to forget this happened.” I wriggled to an upright position and fished a handkerchief out of my bedside drawer. I wiped all the cum off my face and torso. “It was really great though and I loved it.”

She had tears in her eyes when she nodded her head.

“I guess David. If you say so.” She stood up and slipped out into the hallway and back to her own bed. I climbed into my own bed and laid there for a long time thinking about what had happened and why it had happened. And the single thought I couldn’t shake was how much I wanted to have it happen again.
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