He certainly was. His eyes devoured me, — running over the contours of my body over and over. Quite often he lost the thread of the conversation and had to ask for someone to repeat a question when he was addressed. That bulge in his jeans kept waxing and waning. Did the others notice? Dad watched us tike an undercover agent, pretending not to have a care in the world but never going off-guard. I wanted to warn Bob to take it easy-but then I would make the same mistake myself by staring at his bulge for too long.
“Time for bed,” Dad announced. We rose dutifully, relieved that this family situation had come to an end.
“By the way,” he said as I headed for my old room, “we've made a small change in the sleeping arrangements here. You'll be in Elaine's bedroom for the time being.”
“Why?” I said. “Don't you trust me anymore?”
“If I don't you have only yourself to blame, young lady,” said Dad, and a small tic appeared in his left eye. “Now let's not talk about this. It'll only upset your mother.”
And indeed, Mum looked very nervous. I nodded and followed Elaine up the stairs. Bob sighed deeply and shuffled off to his room. Only Nora remained behind. Since she was the oldest, and the most assertive, she didn't take orders from Dad anymore.
When the door closed behind Elaine and I, a strange and unsettling experience took place. For a moment I failed to recognize her as my sister! Perhaps it was the year we'd spent apart or some dysfunction in my mind-but for that moment she looked like an immensely desirable young girl to me. Of course that's exactly what she was, but sisters aren't supposed to feel that way about each other. Then again, brothers and sisters aren't either.
I shook my head and sat on my bed, which had been placed at the other side of the room against the wall facing the window. That was probably to keep Bob from sneaking in to see me. Elaine didn't see fit to make any comments on this situation and I didn't want to talk about it. She undressed in silence before walking over to the wardrobe to find her nightie. It was during that minute of nudity that I experienced the same difficulty in keeping my feelings sisterly. She was so sleek, so elegant, that she was almost other-worldly. Elaine had no tits. Just big nipples. Her cheeks were hard and round, and moved minimally when she walked. Long legs, beautifully shaped, suddenly stopped and her ass began. The curve of her back excited me, too. There was something coltish about her, though she was without awkwardness. And when she walked towards the wardrobe I felt a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach-hers was a beauty that had no consciousness of itself. It just existed like a random, brutal force. I wanted her with every fibre of my body for that moment. The trouble was that I didn't know her as a person. The mystery woman in the making, that was Elaine. She could be super-straight, or a red-hot mama, there was no way of telling. I undressed and watched her to see if she reacted. But she remained inscrutable, getting into bed and yawning as she wished me goodnight.
When the lights went out my troubles really started. In this house and in the dark I was surrounded by memories and physical presences. There was Bob, lying on the other side of the wall. And there was Elaine, in the bed so close to mine. All that coupled With the vivid recollections of a year's lovemaking with Ann and the club members-and no way to deal with my rising lust except manually.
I waited for half an hour to give Elaine a chance to fall asleep. When her breathing was regular and relaxed, I turned on the small TV at the foot of my bed, taking care to keep the volume down low. Now the blue light of the set spread across the room and showed me Elaine's slender form as she lay half under her sheets. She was on her side facing away from me, her bare shoulders all the more enticing in the strangely cold light. There was a movie on TV, a beach party film starring all sorts of teenage idols destined to become insurance salesmen in later life. I watched them absently as my hands began the familiar preamble. Already the anticipation of a private, secretive climax was tingling through me. Masturbation was a singular pleasure, one that couldn't be compared to “real” sex. It occupied a position somewhere between sex and life. And there were moments when I could turn myself on just thinking about the next time in bed, alone with my nimble fingers.
Silently my fingers ran down my chest and stomach, stirring up the first burst of tiny impulses under my skin. Nerves became alert, a knot of tension raveled together in my chest, and the sweat broke out on my temples. I stopped for a moment to prop the pillows up under my head, then fixed my half-closed eyes on the TV screen and began the long, intimate process in all seriousness.
The TV showed a group of boys and girls on the beach doing a peculiar, inhibited dance to the strains of an unknown rock group. I'd seen so many of those films already and they were all the same. But I had never watched one while masturbating. Suddenly I began to look at the protagonists more closely, noting the virile swell in the boys' swim suits and the curvaceous-ness of the girls' bikinis. I imagined myself among them, doing the same twist, bumping up against them, seeing the boys close up, and my fantasy lent a little impact to my masturbation. My hands closed around my tits, kneading them rhythmically, and that clammy sensation sprang up between my legs. What did they do once the cameras had had their fill? Did all the boys and girls go home to eat apple pie? Or did bikinis fly and cocks rear? I could just see them off camera, laughing at their own play at innocence and decency, before embarking on a series of the most disgusting acts known to man. The girl with the pony tail and the boy with the duck's ass, surely they would rut like pigs in the sand. And the blonde with the fringe, wouldn't she like Mr. Muscles over there to ram her into oblivion? What about the adults, how would they like to grope around in those teeny-bopper panties. The adults were faded stars but they would have enough currency to bring the groupie out of most of the girls shown on my screen.
So thinking I had to rub and squeeze myself harder just to keep up with my mind. I plunged from one erotic hot bath into the next, conjuring up things for the happy, clean crew to do. And, while they danced and played practical jokes on each other and chased a Russian spy into a phony sand dune, I had them ramming each other, eating cunt and sucking cock, and it all became so realistic in my mind that I lost all power to distinguish between dream and reality. With it went the last of my caution.
I must have been making a lot of noise when I tried to insert several fingers up my cunt, because Elaine sat upright all of a sudden and asked: “What are you doing to yourself, Kathy? Are you alright?”
“I'm fine,” I puffed, dragging my hands away from my burning cunt and doing my best to look normal. “I was just itchy, that's all.”
“Itchy?” Elaine gave me a dubious look and came over to sit on the side of my bed. “Was that all you were doing to yourself, scratching? It sure looked like you were doing something else to me. And besides, I've never heard a person make sounds like that when they scratched.”
“Well, what do you think I was doing?” I said irritably. Desirable as she was, I just wanted her to go back to her own bed and leave me to take care of my aroused body.
“You were playing with yourself, weren't you?” Elaine sounded tentative now, as if she was guessing.
“That's right, I was playing with myself. Why, don't you ever do such things?”
“To tell you the truth, Kathy, I don't know how to. Some of the girls in my class are always talking about it but when I ask them how they do it they won't tell me.”
“Why won't they?”
“Because they can't believe I don't know, so they just think I'm pulling their leg.”
That changed everything for me. If Elaine wanted to learn, who could teach her better than me? “You want me to show you how, Elaine?” I asked gently.