Infatuation Ch. 01

It happens to every guy. It seriously does. And I'm not talking about erectile dysfunction; I'm talking about walking in on your sister while she's buck naked. And if it's not your sister, then it's your mother, or your aunt, or – God forbid – your grandmother. Yes, let's all have a nice shudder before we continue.

That's better. Anyway, as I was saying, most guys will, at some point in their life, encounter an incident that involves, in some manner, a female relative and a whole lot of skin. It's really not our fault, considering how much time women spend in the bathroom. Yes, we probably should knock before going in, but why do they insist on standing in front of the mirror, in the nude, for several thoughtful minutes? The female body is beautiful! Your breasts aren't too small, your butt isn't too big and yes, you would look better shaved. But I guess the blame does rest on both sides of the fence.

Anyway, with an incident like this I guess you really have only two outcomes. Either the sight before your eyes is so hideously unattractive (andold) that you're scarred for life, and spend the rest of your years trying to give yourself a frontal lobotomy;or ... you spend the rest of your life trying to forget that perfect, heavenly sight, which – let's face it – just made your day, and possibly your entire childhood. Either way, it's a long-term thing.

So now that we've established that the guy isn't the only one at fault (keep that in mind for the next few pages, or at least until you've learnt to like me), let me tell youmy story.

As you may have guessed, it involves my sister. My sister who, I had always thought, was your ordinary, run-of-the-mill female sibling whose only purpose in life (as far as I was concerned) was to make sure that I didn't have to do all the household chores. She was twenty-four at the time this happened, and I was eighteen.

Okay, so you already know what happened when I woke up that Friday morning, but it's no fun if I just skip it and tell you what happened afterwards. I have todescribe it first, indetail, so that you can picture it and appreciate the full impact of the event. It's no small thing for an eighteen-year-old guy, you know. It's one of the major shaping points of his life. He holds onto that memory until he dies, or at least until he becomes senile. So yeah, hold your horses.

Anyway, as I said, it happened on a Friday morning. And let's be honest here – Friday mornings aren't that bad. Monday mornings are terrible, Thursday mornings are so close to the end of the week that they're basically a tease, but Friday mornings... they're all right. If you have school on a Friday, it's only six short hours until you're off for the week. And if you have work, it's two or three more. Unless, of course, you're working night shift, or your boss is a slave driver, or a vending machine falls on your legs and keeps you at work all weekend. But that's not too likely.

So I woke up feeling pretty good on Friday morning. I wasn't shouting "Hello, world!" from my open window, or singing along with the swallows that frequent our garden, but I was in a reasonably cheerful mood. I was also in a pair of blue polyester trousers (they're like silk trousers, only cheaper) and a plain white T-shirt – my basic night-time apparel. My hair was badly dishevelled, on account of the fact that I toss and turn regularly and always sleep on my side, and my skin was all sweaty and stiff. Not the prettiest picture to paint, but we're trying to be realistic here; and anyone who thinks they wake up looking like the crown prince of Handsome Land is kidding themselves.

So, in my post-sleep stupor, I stumbled to the bathroom, using one eye to navigate whilst I rubbed the other with my palm. (It's not as difficult as it sounds). When I reached the bathroom, the door was closed. I didn't pay much attention to that fact, because I knew my parents would have already showered, and my sister would have left for work by now, so the bathroom would be free. Someone had probably just forgotten to leave the door open after they'd finished. So, what do I do? I open the door, of course.

And then BANG! My entire body goes haywire. Let me try and describe exactly what happened to it.

My eyes, needless to say, increased their radius by an enormous degree; my mouth fell open like a wacky portcullis; my legs gave a kind of jelly-like tremble; and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. That wasn't all though. My mouth went immediately dry at first, then flooded with saliva; my palms and armpits began to produce sweat at a rate that would have cooled down the Sahara Desert; and, most obvious of all, my friendly neighbourhood trouser snake sprang to hard and painful attention. It was a mixed bag of feelings, to say the least.

But I'm neglecting the most important part. What could I have possibly been looking at to make my body go through such a complex string of reactions? Well, okay, you already know, but I'll tell you again anyway. It was my sister. My sister!

And mother of God,what a sister! I had never before, in my life, regarded her as attractive, nor had I ever entertained any curiosity as to what she looked like beneath her clothes. I'd remained completely and blissfully ignorant of this ... this ...goddessthat was standing naked in front of me. But now ... it was like a veil had been lifted from my eyes, and I suddenly saw a completely different girl who had, nevertheless, been right under my nose for the past eighteen years. I should have guessed right away how much that incident would torture me. How was I ever supposed to let it go? I felt like it was burned into my brain; if I ever got a CAT scan, the doctors would see the image of my naked sister etched into my cerebral cortex. Obviously, I was kind of affected by this episode. But my sister...

"James, you fucking idiot! Get the hell out! GET OUT!" Her voice was like the shrill grinding of the garbage truck's brakes that wakes you up at six in the morning. I was actually tempted to clap my hands over my ears. She was hysterical.

"I'm ... sorry," I mumbled, still staring at her breasts. And oh, they were such lovely breasts. I was still a virgin, and I hadn't had so much as an experimental kiss before. Sure, I'd looked at porn (way, way too much) and I'd found myself gazing at the chests of beautiful women, but to actually see breasts, in real life, five feet away from me, just hanging there like a new, undiscovered fruit... It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time – kind of like skydiving, I guess.

And then her belly – her soft, slender belly. And herhips! They weren't just straight and bony like mine – they actually curved out and plunged down to become her thighs. And such lovely thighs they were. I could almost have wrapped a single hand around one with my fingers meeting on the other side. But between them... It was like an epiphany for me – seeing a vagina for the first time. Here was my sister – my ordinary, boring sister – standing with the body of a mature woman, ready to copulate and have her period and make babies. I felt suddenly awakened to all of life's greatest miracles. My sister could do all those things. My sister!

As I stood there in dumbstruck awe, I had the sudden, desperate urge to tell her how much I loved and respected her, and howawesome her body was. I wanted to tell her that her collarbones were like lovely willow branches, that her lips were like rose petals, that her cheeks were as vibrant and alive as anything I had ever seen. I wanted her to take my hand and show me all sorts of new and wondrous things, to teach me about the female body and how to make love to it. I wanted to devote my entire life to the sight I saw before me.

And before you start wondering:no, I wasn't high. I was just full of an ineffable awe that is extremely hard to put into words. Hopefully, I've captured it to some degree.

But despite all this wonder and amazement that I felt, my sister was easily balancing the scales with her unbridled fury. "Get OUT!" she shrieked, and grabbed a fluffy white towel to wrap around her body. It was the towel that broke the spell. Now robbed of that radiant and beautiful sight (which made me want to beg for its return), I blinked several times and suddenly realised what I was doing. Oh, and my trousers wereseriously tented.

"I'm sorry," I gasped, spinning around to go. I missed the door on the first spin, but got it on the second. "I'm sorry," I kept repeating, as I hurried out and closed the door behind me. I took one deep, shaky breath and then bolted back to my room. My mother impeded my progress, however.

"What's going on?" she asked, sounding confused.

"Nothing," I replied hastily, still out of breath.

"Why was Jemma shouting?"

"Uh ... I don't know," I lied. As my breath caught up to me, I started to frown and ponder a question of my own. "How come you're not at work?"

"Because it's only eight o'clock," my mother replied. "Why are you up so early?"

I thought about this for several confusing seconds. And then I remembered: the brief and annoying power outage last night, the resetting of my alarm clock, which I matched to my watch – myold, and almost neverused watch which hadn't been updated for Daylight Savings Time. I had woken up an hour earlier than usual and assumed that it was still time to go to school. I wanted to mash my palm against my forehead, but I wasn't sure what my mother would make of that.

"Right," I said, trying to avoid her eye. "I'm gonna go back to bed." She was obviously still confused, but I hurried past her and made it to my room before she could raise any objections. Once there, I lay down on my bed, then sat up, then paced back and forth, and then decided to stare out of my window for several minutes. No matter where I looked, I could still see Jemma's naked body. It had become my Mecca, my Jesus, my religion! I wanted to lavish gifts and compliments on her in the hopes that she would allow me to glimpse her bare flesh once more. I felt a strange desire and reverence bubbling up inside me. I suppose that's what it feels like to achieve nirvana. Those monks are wasting their time though; they should just walk in on their sisters when they're in the bathroom and be done with it.

I wasn't done with it though. I hadn't evenbegun to contemplate, analyse and deconstruct every tiny little detail of my experience. I would spend months – years – tracing the sensuous lines of her body in my mind. I would scrutinise that mental image until I could recall it at a moment's instant. I would try (and fail) to decide which feature of her body I liked best. In short, I would go mad.

It started at school, on that same day. I waited until Jemma had left the house before going into the bathroom and finding the exact spot she had stood when I'd seen her. I played the event over in my mind, again and again, until I found that I wasinsanely horny, at which point I jacked myself off and came like a prize-winning bull. I didn't really feel that sordid at the time; I just knew I wanted to orgasm while I was thinking of my sister's soft, unrelenting body. Afterwards I felt bad, but it passed with time.

At school, nothing I did could shake the image from my mind. Maths equations, English essays, even tripping and falling down the steps during morning recess couldn't dislodge it. My friends commented on the fact that I was behaving quite 'absent-mindedly' during the day, but I was too absent-minded to make a reply. The only things I wanted to do were either see my sister naked again, or go to the toilet and jack off while I thought of her. But I'd never jacked off at school before and I wasn't going to start now. So I passed what felt like the longest day of my entire life just thinking, unendingly, of my sister and her divine body. I wanted to feel her breasts in my palms. That was the conclusion I came to by the end of the day.

By the time I got home, hot and sweaty and preoccupied, I decided that I also wanted to make her come. Sure, she was my sister and it was totally and utterly wrong, but I wanted to make her and her gorgeous body feel like a million, shiny silver dollars. I wanted to see what would happen to those spherical breasts and that firm stomach when she had an orgasm. I wanted to know what kind of sounds she made. I wanted to see where she put her hands at the moment of her climax. Would she squeeze her breasts and flatten them against her chest, or would she cling to me as though I were concrete pillar in a hurricane? I wanted to know it all, and I couldn't stand to be ignorant any longer.

I was the only one at home when I arrived, so I jacked off. I made myself a sandwich, then I jacked off again, then I ate the sandwich, and then I jacked off twice more. It was a record for me – six times in one day (I did it twice more that night). Maybe six isn't a lot, but I average, like, two a day, so six is impressive for me. Anyway, enough with my pubescent rantings. You all want to know what happened when my sister came home? Did she confront him about what had happened? Did she apologise for reacting so violently? Did she ask him if he liked what he saw, then pulled out his gigantic, ten-inch cock and made love to it with her mouth? Well, no, no, and mostdefinitely no. For starters, I don'thave a ten-inch cock, and even if I did, I doubt it would cause a sudden backflip in my sister's behaviour – that ofnot giving her brother oral sex in the evening, or during any other part of the day, for that matter.

No, what she did was completely ignore me. But that's normal right? I mean, we didn't talk much before. But, this time the silence was more like noise – it was heavy and it was excruciatingly awkward. Whenever I so much as moved a finger, Jemma's eyes would cut towards me with a distrustful and menacing glare. As long as I stayed perfectly still, she did too.

But I didn'twant to stay perfectly still. I wanted to run up to her like a girl at a Justin Timberlake concert and tell her that I thought her body was "like, oh my God, the most amazing thing I have ever seen in mylife! AIIIIEEEEEE!" She'd probably just slap me though and never wear anything evenremotely revealing ever again. And that would suck. Big time. So I kept quiet, for the moment.

Willpower is a funny thing. Well, actually, it's not, but what I meant to say was that it doesn't last very long. I made it to about nine o'clock and then my subconscious took over. My id, as Freud would say. It was all food-drink-grunt-sex-grunt-sleep from then on. So when my lovely, magnificently beautiful sister decided that she was going upstairs to bed, I leapt to my feet and repeated her words exactly, then followed her up. She waited until she had gained the upstairs landing before rounding on me with white-hot eyes. I think she planned it so that I would still be on the stairs, and therefore in a lower position – both physically and feudally – allowing her to come across as more menacing. In truth, she looked as menacing as I could possibly imagine her to be, but I was so utterly infatuated with her then, that I failed to notice it. When she bared her teeth, I simply noted how white they were. And when those angry creases appeared between her eyebrows, I thought they were cute. I was smiling like a dazed clown.

"Why are you following me?" she demanded, as I was busy tracing the curve of her chin with my eyes. I shook my head to regain some composure and attempted to form a coherent response.

"I'm not," was all I could come up with.

"Then go to your room," Jemma suggested, then folded her arms and moved aside to let me pass. I looked at the gap I was supposed to walk through, then at Jemma's supple body, and said, "Well, what are you doing now?"

I should reiterate the fact that my sister and I had a very simple, almost non-existent relationship before that Friday morning. And she, apparently, wanted to keep it that way. I didn't though. I wanted to know everything about her.

"I'm going to bed," she replied bluntly, with her arms still crossed.

"Soooo ... you don't want to do something?" I asked slowly.

Jemma looked baffled. "Do something? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I don't know," I replied with a shrug. And then, as though I'd been struck by a brilliant, completely original idea, "We could listen to music!"

Her eyes widened about as much as mine had that morning. "You want to listen to music?" she said slowly. "With me?"

"Well, I mean, you have such good taste – maybe I could borrow some CDs from you."

She looked even more confused. "Youhate the music I listen to. You tell me so all the time."

"Well, I'm older now. Maybe I'll like it."

Her expression changed then, to a knowing sort of look. "I know what this is about ... what you're trying to do."

I frowned innocently. "What am I trying to do?"

Jemma just smiled, though not very pleasantly, and walked away. I jogged to catch up to her, trying to reposition my erection as I did. "Hey, wait," I said, reaching her in the hallway.

"What?" she demanded sharply, spinning around.

"Er..." I said, stumbling for things to say. How could Isubtly let her know that I thought she was the most beautiful thing on the entire planet? "I like your top," I said, pointing at the simple purple garment. It had a big, red sunflower right in the middle, most of it covering her breasts. Ah, thosebreasts...

Jemma didn't even look down. "Go away, you horny little prick," she said sternly. I might have been hurt, if I was in a very different mood.

"I'm not horny," I replied defensively.

"Oh, yeah?" said Jemma, and nodded at my crotch. "What's that, then?"

I looked down and saw the distinctive bulge in my trousers. Of course, there was no satisfactory answer I could give to that question, so Jemma didn't wait for one. She just smirked at me and took off for her room. The door closed behind her before I managed to spit out another useless sentence.Damn, I thought sharply, and stomped off to my room. Once there, I pulled my pillow between my legs and took it for a very brief ride.

It just didn't seem fair, I mused afterwards. All those years spent in lonely desperation, and now I realise that there's a gorgeous princess a few doors away and I can't even see her. She wasright there, with her vagina and her cervix and her clitoris, and I had the perfect compliment to all those parts and I couldn'tdo anything with them. Didn't it make sense to wrap ourselves together and make long, passionate love with each other? It did to me.

But even if I couldn't have sex with her, I still wanted to see her naked. And if I couldn't see her naked, then I wanted to smell her or hear her. So I pushed myself out of bed, crept silently along the hall, and put an ear to Jemma's door. There was light coming out from beneath it, so I knew she was still awake. But what was she doing? Was she reading? Was she trying on new clothes? Was she inspecting herself in the mirror again? I had a sudden and old-fashioned-movie kind of picture of Jemma sitting at a vanity table and brushing her hair in the nude. It sent desire zinging down my spine.

Then the door opened. I fell forward but managed to keep my footing. Jemma was looming above me, fully clothed (in her pyjamas, however, which were similar to mine) and looking at me with cross-armed impatience. She looked as though she expected an explanation.

"Uh ... hi," I said, straightening up and swallowing as best I could. "How ... how are you?"

"I'm fine," Jemma responded, no doubt mocking me. "How are you?"

"Good," I replied, in a rather high-pitched tone. "How are you?"