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Subject: Title story: "A YOUNGEST SON'S STORY" Author: Incest Son 42532905
From: Incestor <familyincest@graffiti.net>
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Date: Mon, 02 May 2005 11:22:00 +0000
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"A YOUNGEST SON'S STORY"
A true recollection by Jack Barton.
THIS IS MY STORY, and I promise you that it's absolutely true. My reason for
telling it is twofold; firstly just to get it out of my system after all these
years and secondly, I wonder if I am twisted by nature or by the events of my
life. I am the youngest of four children, two sisters and a brother. My father
was a kind and loving man, a baker by trade, on permanent night work, but mother
was a different story. She used to get drunk and beat us mercilessly, the girls
getting it worse than the boys I recall.
Because of the size of the house we lived in I had to sleep with my sister June
who is 5 years older than me. This situation didn't last for many years because
my elder sister, May, got married and moved abroad and June got a bedroom of her
own, but I remember the childish experimentation on my sister's part, though
nothing much to tell. The maternal beatings continued and I remember June
running away from home a couple of times to get away from the violence. For some
reason mother beat me noticeably less than the others, but I certainly didn't
get away with it.
The last time that June ran away was when she was sixteen, and she didn't get in
touch with us for about a year, by which time she was living with a man in his
forties, thirty years her senior. He was an unsavoury character, but at least he
was good to her. He was a long distance lorry driver and occasionally had to
stay away overnight. It was at these times that I stayed with her to keep her
company. This is the time we are speaking about.
Barry was away on an overnight trip and as usual I was stopping over to keep
June company. She was having a bath and I was in the front room watching the
television. After her bath she came into the room, naked and carrying a towel.
My mouth turned to cotton wool and I could actually feel the blood pounding
through my veins as she stood in front of me. June had a good figure and I
couldn't take my eyes off her nakedness. She had a smile playing on her lips and
I just knew that tonight was going to be like no other night in my life.
"Dry me please," she asked, offering me the towel.
She stood as still as a statue while I patted her dry, all the time my mind
racing with the thoughts of what is going to happen next. I had a sort of
distant guiltiness, but at the same time I couldn't stop the inevitability of
the situation and by now I wanted it so badly that I just couldn't have
stopped myself if I had wanted to, and I didn't want to do anything that
would jeopardise what I knew was going to happen next. As I patted her
breasts dry I tried my hardest not to seem overkeen and spoil everything, but
I couldn't help but linger on my first touch of a woman's breasts, even if
they were my sister's.
She then took the towel from me, threw it onto the back of a chair and held my
hands in hers. She pulled me to her and gave me a kiss that I can remember to
this day. My first real kiss and my head was spinning with a mixture of lust,
expectation and downright horniness, but by now there was no turning back. It
was a juicy, wet kiss and her tongue explored my mouth, slowly rolling and
mingling with my tongue, until I thought I'd explode.
She put her hand behind my head and whispered in my ear, "come on, get
undressed, I've got something to teach you".
Even the feel of her hand behind my head and the warmth of her breath in my
ear were the sexiest things I'd ever felt. I stripped naked in a trice and she
held me close to her. The feel of her body next to mine was incredible and I
didn't ever want it to stop. The softness and heat of her body had my head
spinning. She lowered herself to the floor and pulled me down next to her on
the carpet. She took my hand and placed it on her vagina, directing my finger
to her clitoris.
"Now just rub me there gently for a minute, until I get moist and then you can
put this in".
She had a firm hold of my prick and I was almost on the verge of coming there
and then. After a second or two she pulled me effortlessly onto her and inserted
my hardness smoothly into her waiting vagina. I began pumping and after about
the third thrust my body became as stiff as a poker as I shook long and hard in
the throes of my first ejaculation inside a woman.
"Sh, sh," she whispered, "don't move, stay there a minute," and she held me
very, very tightly until after a moment she shuddered and with a sigh she kissed
me lightly on the lips, a strange, satisfied smile on her face.
Of course I didn't realise it at the time just how incredibly prematurely I'd
ejaculated, but I was to improve my performance a few times later that night!
We lay on the floor, kissing and stroking for a few minutes and then she started
fondling my prick. It became poker stiff again almost instantaneously, (the
power of youth, eh), and this time she rolled over and straddled me, her hands
on my chest, taking her weight while she guided my prick deep inside her
luscious body. It was like sliding my prick into warm liquid velvet.
"Lie back," she purred, "let me do the work".
She slowly began rocking back and forth on top of me, her breasts swaying
tantalisingly in front of my eyes. I reached out and fondled them, rubbing my
palms across her rock hard nipples. June was in charge of the rhythm now and set
a steady cadence. A couple of times I thrust my pelvis up at her but each time
she calmed me down.
"Easy John, easy," she cooed, taking charge of the proceedings, "there's no
rush, let me do the work."
I couldn't believe the pleasures that ran through my young body. I didn't ever
want it to stop but I also wanted to ejaculate so badly. I was much more in
control of myself this time but I don't think that anyone could last for long
under such stimulation. I suddenly reached the point of no return and it was
like the sweetest torture imaginable.
I know that in films everyone shouts out when they climax but I promise you that
I couldn't keep quiet! I Oohed and Aahed, moaned, writhed and bucked like the
wildest bronco until I held my sister so hard I'm surprised I didn't break her
ribs. June fell on top of me and we hugged each other tightly, exhausted, and we
both began laughing gently together.
We sat together on the floor, naked, watching television for some time,
sometimes kissing, sometimes stroking, holding, fondling, but all the time
engaged in a loving embrace. We fell into each other's arms again later that
night and once again made the most beautiful love, long into the night.
Our lovemaking went on for years after that fateful night and we became
accomplished lovers, but one or two things perplex me still, even after all
these years. Firstly we never made love in her bed although we often commenced
our foreplay there, we always moved into another room for the actual act.
Secondly we never engaged in oral sex of any form although we were quite
experimental in every other department and often spent ages kissing each other's
bodies, licking and sucking, but never oral sex. Finally, and perhaps the most
upsetting, what I thought was going to be the pattern for the rest of my life
came to an abrupt end. The day I got my first steady girlfriend was the last
time we ever indulged ourselves or even spoke about it, but it was great while
it lasted and I still miss it terribly, she was the first and the best.
Unfortunately, June died in her twenty-second year due to a drug addiction.
It was when I was about fifteen or sixteen that I started going out with girls
on a regular basis. Unfortunately that's all I did, take them out! This was in
the sixties when everyone was into free love and at it like knives, or so I
thought. Truth to tell, nobody was actually getting it, but they all claimed
they were.
I returned home on this particular night after an evening of trying it on with
the girl of the moment. You know, petty fumbling, stroking her breast outside
the bra, getting my hand slapped, "I'm not that sort of girl," type of thing.
When I entered the front room, I could tell immediately that mother was both
drunk and in one of her nasty moods. Short and stocky, a powerfully built woman
with short grey hair, she was well endowed with a large matronly bosom. She sat
in her chair in her pyjamas and as I entered the room she started moaning about
the time that I'd returned home.
She raised herself from the chair and started hitting me, screaming and shouting
for no good reason that I could see but this time it was different. She was
swinging her arms like a windmill and I found it easy to dodge or parry the
blows. She couldn't hurt me! Anymore! For the first time, I was in charge. The
harder she fought, the easier I found it to avoid the flailing arms and
gradually I began to find it amusing.
Like most bullies, confrontation deflates their bravado and when I grabbed mum's
wrists and held her immobile, she quickly realised that she had lost it and
began to lose her venom. I quickly threw her arms around my neck and pulled her
close to me. I wrapped my arms around her back and blew a raspberry, (Bronx
Cheer), into her neck. We then slid to the floor, mother now laughing and
wriggling with me still blowing. I was on top of her, lying between her legs. I
still held her wrists to her side and now I slid down and started blowing
raspberries into her navel. My chest was now rubbing her mound and I let go of
her wrists, preferring to tickle her sides. As she squirmed beneath me I rubbed
my chest into her groin and her soft breasts plopped into my hand, first one and
then another as she rolled from side to side.
It was about this time that I realised I was getting aroused, and I thought
perhaps she was too. The tickling had now stopped and I cautiously cupped her
breasts and slid up her body until our groins were grinding together in slow
circular motions. I took my weight on my left arm and tweaked her nipple between
my finger and thumb, our faces inches apart, I pressed my lips to hers. Mother
opened her mouth slightly and ran her tongue along my lips. My Prick was as hard
as it had ever been and I continued to dry fuck her.
She kissed me lightly again and said, "that's it son, it's time for bed."
She rolled from under me made her way upstairs. I sat for a moment, slightly
bewildered, slightly angry and completely horny. I took myself to my room and
immediately wanked myself silly. As soon as I finished I felt ashamed of myself,
wanking over your own mother but it would have been nice, wouldn't it?
Now it was not for a couple of years later that it suddenly dawned on me. When
she said it was time for bed, did she come to her senses and call a halt to
things before they got completely out of hand, or did she mean me to join her in
her bed:? Oh shit!
That leaves one female member of the family, May, that I haven't hit on:yet. I'm
now 50 years old and May is 65, and it is this part of the story that reminded
of the can of worms that is my family life. She emigrated to Canada when I was
five years old and I've not seen much of her in all these years. Her husband
died after a long illness and she decided to make one of her infrequent visits
home last year.
During her stay, in the second week, we all ended up reminiscing and the alcohol
flowed freely and we all ended up silly pissed. Now everyone drifted off to bed,
extremely the worse for wear I might add, and we settled down for the night.
About a quarter of an hour after retiring there was a loud bump, May had fallen
out of bed.
"Your sister, you sort her out," was my wife's solution.
I went into May's room and found her trying to climb back into bed, picked her
up and put her back and pulled the duvet over her. That was all that was
required of me but no, I had to sit on the edge of the bed and ask for a
goodnight kiss.
We were both drunk, I know, but that kiss was 100% sexual. Our tongues played
with each other with plenty of deep breathing and panting etc. My hand
immediately locked onto her breast beneath her top and her hand went straight to
my prick and began wanking furiously. So there I was, about to jump into bed
with my elder sister with my wife in the next room waiting for me. Reason
prevailed and I managed to pull myself away and return to my own bed, but again,
I know that I could have done it with another of my female relatives. The
opportunity didn't arise again on that holiday, but she's coming over again this
year and I am determined that we'll get it on this time, I'm not going to keep
missing opportunities like that.
I'll now repeat my initial question, am I the victim, the abused or the abuser.
Given the circumstances of these three encounters, what would anyone else have
done? Perhaps I am sick, please let me know.
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