Chapter 1: Infatuation

Saturday, April 13th, 1996, Sanford Maine

Have you ever looked back on a single moment in time and said to yourself, yep, that’s the moment where everything in my life went from normal to unbelievable? Where you realized, much later, that that was the pivotal moment of your life? One which would determine the full course for the rest of it? Where one simple request would change who you were? Where one moment in time (a moment so small it could fit into an hour over a hundred times) would lead to the best and worst times of your life? Times that you could never have imagined having? So small yet so significant that it would have an earth-shattering effect on your world, turning it upside down and inside out. Yet, the true effects were such that they wouldn’t be felt immediately. Oh no, the full ramifications would only be felt much, much later.

I have. I look back at a moment like that all the time, at least once a day. It haunts me, but in a good way. It was a moment that caused many difficulties and had unforeseen consequences. The struggles I had were real. Still, it leaves me feeling remembered exhilaration, joy, and happiness (at least for a while). It was a moment so electric that it has been fried into my brain with crystal clarity, forever burned into me like a brand. That moment was like a pebble thrown into the center of a pond, the ripples of which would impact the shores of my reality for the rest of my life.

I would love to be able to change many, many of the moments that came after that. Not that first one, though, not the one that led me here. What was that moment, you ask? It was the first time that I had felt the electric spark of our tongues touching, lightly brushing across each other. The first time our lips (tentative at first, yet firm at the end) came together. It was that first exploratory kiss, done out of curiosity, hesitant (on my part), shy (on both of our parts), yet full of secret desire. That one kiss conveyed a lot. It conveyed everything. It was the moment that I first kissed Amber.

I guess I should start at the beginning, or at least a beginning: a beginning way before that moment. I should introduce myself, especially since you’re reading my story. My name is David Knowlton; I was born on June 6th, 1980. I lived in Sanford, Maine (at the time of this story), a fair-sized town of about twenty thousand people. Which was where my mother and father were raised as well. I have Dark Brown hair (in the summer, it gets blonde streaks through it), hazel eyes (more green than brown), a chiseled jawline, and thick arched eyebrows (many people say that they remind them of Jack Nicholson). I’ve been told many times over the years that I was very good looking, I’ve never really thought so myself. I always had just figured I was average in looks, but to keep my story accurate, I will write what people claimed.

At the time that this story starts, I was fifteen (a few months shy of my sixteenth birthday) and had just reached my full height of six foot two inches. I weighed about one-hundred-and-eighty pounds, and it would still be a few years before I filled out to my average adult weight of two-hundred-and-twenty pounds. I had wide shoulders, a slim waist, big hands, and big feet (size twelve). I had always been heavily into sports from a young age. I played football for my high school (halfback, I loved making rush plays), and I started into martial arts when I was eight. I was a huge Bruce Lee fan growing up and had probably seen every Kung Fu movie ever made. I received my black belt at thirteen and started taking Jujitsu at fourteen, and I was awarded the purple belt the same year that this story began.

When I wasn’t in school, playing football, or practicing my martial arts, I was in the gym. I loved working out (I blame that on Arnold Schwarzenegger), although I had no desire to be a massive bodybuilder; I did want to be big and cut. I started working out in the gym at ten and really picked it up with the weights for gains at fourteen. Just to give an accurate picture in your mind, at fifteen, I was ripped, and although my clothes hid it well, if I took off my shirt, my six-pack was more like an eight pack, and my arms and chest were thick and cut. Think Claude Van Damme from the ‘80s. My legs were my strongest feature, with ripped thighs and calves; I biked everywhere and enjoyed sprinting for track and field too.

I guess I was kind of that freaky teen that developed faster than ninety-nine percent of the rest of the kids, and my body resembled that of an adult, and I was in better shape than most of them too. (I blame my genes, my Dad was six foot five and two-hundred-and-sixty pounds, most of which was muscle, but I’ll describe him later). It took me years to realize that my body was better than most adults when I was a teen because, for all of my size, martial skills, and physical prowess, I was actually pretty humble. I wasn’t shy, but I wasn’t cocky either (I credit that to my upbringing and my martial arts teacher).

I was pretty outgoing and liked being friendly. I talked with anyone no matter what ‘clique’ they were a part of, and if I saw bullying, I stopped it. There were two things that I couldn’t tolerate at that age, bullies and sexists. I was a live and let live type of guy, and unless someone was hurting someone, I thought that people should be free to be themselves. The sexist thing, I honestly don’t know how it came about. It never made sense to me that a guy was a ‘stud’ if he got some, yet the same girl would be called a ‘slut’ or ‘ho’. I hated that two-faced shit. I never understood the logic of it. Without those so-called ‘sluts’ and ‘ho’s,’ there would be no studs.

So other than stopping the occasional bully (it never took more than a veiled threat, a good glare, or mostly just a loud ‘Hey’ to get them to stop), or verbally defending some girls honor (from the studs who are now bragging about how slutty the girl was, you get the drift), life was pretty good. I had a bunch of friends, no enemies that I knew of, and was a happy teenager in most ways. Oh, I guess I should add one other thing to my physical description; it seems many people like to know these things. My cock was/is nine inches and a bit and six and a half inches around. From showers after football and gym class, I knew that I was bigger than average, but I was extremely shy about it.

To make this story make sense, I also need to describe the rest of my family. My Dad, Todd Knowlton, was born in 1954; in 1974, he married my mother, Jacky Spencer (his high school sweetheart). If you want to picture my Dad, just use my description above and add a few inches and pounds; the only real difference between us was that my Dad had brown eyes, and I had my mother’s hazel ones. I imagine that I am a little smaller than my Dad because of how tiny my Mom was. My Mom was really petite; she was five feet on the nose and one-hundred-and-ten pounds. When she was standing next to my Dad, it almost made them look like circus freaks because of the exaggerated size difference.

My Mom was born in 1956 and was the captain of the cheerleaders for her high school squad; she was super popular and very kindhearted. She was a natural blonde, and let’s just say that even though I was her son and never thought of her in a sexy way, I still knew that she was hot. She had C cup breasts that looked bigger on her because of her small frame, and even though she was tiny, she had a perfect figure. I heard my Dad tell her all the time that he thought her ass was her best feature. I’ll take his word for it; I suggest you do too.

After getting married straight out of high school, my Dad applied for and got a job with the local fire department. My Mom decided to go to college to get a veterinarian degree; she timed it so that she would graduate around the time that I was born. It worked, and my Mom had me two days after getting her diploma. She stayed home with me for the rest of the summer before going to work at Grover’s Veterinarian service. She was absolutely great with animals, namely dogs, cats, and horses. They all reacted favorably to her, and she had a way with them that most people didn’t.

It wasn’t too long before she was everyone’s vet of choice, which meant that she had many days with long hours. Between my Dad’s twenty-four hours on off shifts at the fire station and her long hours, it’s a wonder that they had time to have another baby. But they did, and one year after me, my baby sister was born on May 4th, 1981, and she was tiny, just like our Mom. They named her Amber.

From the day that they brought my baby sister home, I was hooked. She became my world; my big brother instincts were fierce and instant. As soon as she learned to crawl, she started following me everywhere that I went. I played with her, looked out for her, and even took my naps next to her; we were inseparable. Over the next fifteen years, we hung out as much as we could. Unlike most brother-sister relationships, we never annoyed each other, we didn’t compete for our parents’ attention, and we didn’t have that sibling rivalry that most people talk about.

Growing up, my friends quickly learned that Amber was always welcome to be with me, even if they didn’t want a pesky ‘sister’ following us around. That meant she went to the park, the woods, helped us build forts, played cowboys and Indians (she was always an Indian princess and in need of rescue, of course), and even got into some sports with us. Soccer and softball were the two sports that she played with us all the time. She started out-playing most of the boys after a couple of years. When I played football, she was content to watch and cheer for her big Bro from the sidelines.

I also didn’t mind having tea parties with her, helping her build couch cushion forts, or acting out prince and princess stories with her and her friends whenever she had them over. The two things that she did do without me was dance (she joined a modern dance school when she turned eight) and cheerleading. She had decided to follow our Moms’ footsteps and joined the cheerleading squad for our grade school when she had turned thirteen. Other than our hobbies, we were pretty much glued to the hip. We were each other’s best friend, confidants, and of course, each other’s rock of solidity.

Due to the many hours our parents worked, we had a part-time nanny that stayed with us on the days that our Dad did his twenty-four-hour shifts. She also filled in some extra hours for when our parents needed some alone time. We grew used to having limited time with our folks, and that helped reinforce our sibling bond. Please don’t think that our parents were neglectful or not interested, though. They weren’t, and they very much were. They made what time they could for us, and we knew that we were loved very much.

Our Dad made sure that on his non-work days that he spent quality time with us, and our Mom always checked in with us for at least a few minutes each day. Her days off work were spent balancing time with our Dad and with us. No matter, it worked for our family for a long time. When I turned twelve, Esmeralda, who had been our part-time nanny since I had been a few months old, died suddenly. She was a wonderful lady, and my family took her loss to heart. We had grown up with her, and she had been like a grandmother figure to us. Our parents tried to find us another nanny, but they just didn’t find one that met their expectations or needs.

So, in the end, our folks figured that with me being twelve and with how close Amber and I were, that I was old enough to watch over us when they were at work. For the days that our Dad was on shift, my Mom precooked suppers for us or got money for pizza. We grieved for Esmeralda for a long time, but my sister and I were also happy to have the freedom and trust our parents had given us.

Things changed after Amber turned fourteen; she grew breasts, her hips flared out, and she seemed to develop a woman’s body almost overnight. I mean, I realize that it was a gradual thing, but it honestly snuck up on me. I wasn’t expecting it, nor was I prepared for it either. Sure I knew that ‘my’ body had changed, and I had been going through changes for a few years, but I didn’t apply that to my sister. I was used to my own changes but not consciously aware of other peoples.

I had started noticing girls when I was twelve and had gotten my first boner then too. My voice deepened; I grew pubes on my cock and balls and in my pits. I started growing hair over my lips and on my cheeks and chin, enough that at fifteen, my Dad bought me my first razor. It wasn’t a ton of facial hair, but it felt like I was becoming a ‘man’ because of it. I started masturbating at the age of fourteen; it quickly became something that I did at least once a day.

I still remember my first time jerking off. It was in the shower; I was rubbing and pulling on it after I had gotten it all soapy. It felt so good and tingly. I was thinking about some tits that I had seen in a Sears catalog magazine that had come in the mail that day and the next thing I knew was that what I was doing felt terrific. (Lingerie was not a word that I knew back then, but I certainly admired the see-through tops that some of the girls wore.) I mean, like, oh shit, that was outta this world good. My cock had gotten as hard as a crowbar, and when I had shot my load for the first time, it had felt like a euphoric explosion. I had gotten dizzy, and I had to squat down fast to prevent myself from passing out and falling over.

From that moment on, I was hooked. I jerked that cock every chance that I could get, and at that point in my life, it was a lot too. Considering I was in charge when my folks were at work or out running errands, I had plenty of time to masturbate. So like I said, I knew all about my changes. I had no clue that my sister had started changing when she turned twelve, though, which was one year after me. I didn’t see any changes (more like I didn’t notice them for what they were), I did know that she had bumps on her chest that had started appearing when she was eleven. They just held no interest for me until she was fourteen, just a few months from her fifteenth birthday.

I guess at some level, I knew that she was no longer a rail-thin tomboy with bumps in her shirt. It’s just that the changes didn’t affect me; it certainly hadn’t changed our relationship (yet). During the fall and winter months, she wore sweaters or thick long-sleeved shirts all of the time. During those months, her continued changes were mostly hidden from me, and what I could notice didn’t really register.

The day when things first changed was a particularly warm one in early April 1996. It was the first day that the sun had really come out and felt warm after a long and cold winter. It was one of those days when you literally went from wearing sweaters the day before to wearing t-shirts the following day. It was a Saturday morning, and I was raring to get outside. We had planned to bike down to the field to meet some of our friends (by that point, my friends were also hers) to kick a ball around.

I was waiting for an abnormal amount of time for Amber to get dressed and come downstairs so that we could leave. I was also starting to get horny, just sitting there. A typical fifteen-year-old, I know. Recently I had been daydreaming about making out with Linda Miller, a cute blonde in my grade that I was trying to work up the nerve to ask out. I was trying to imagine what her breasts would look like if I ever got the chance to see them nude, and that was starting to give me a chubby. I was debating about whether or not I should quickly go rub one out or not when Amber finally appeared at the top of the stairs.

I don’t know if it was because I was almost fully hard already (I was sitting on the couch rhythmically squeezing my cock through my jeans at that point) or because I was extra horny at the time. But when I saw my baby sister at the top of the stairs, I was thunderstruck. Being the first really warm day, I guessed that she had been taking so long while trying to figure out what to wear. Girls take way too long to decide stuff like that, I had almost zero experience with women, yet even I already knew that one.

That being the first spring that she had received permission from our Mom to wear a little make-up (a very recent development that I wasn’t aware of), she had taken some extra time getting ready. She appeared wearing a new top that was pretty tight; it was red, and did I mention tight? Sticking out of that red tightness was two bumps. Well, bumps wouldn’t be the proper descriptor anymore; mounds would be much better. She had two mounds sticking out of that red shirt, and I couldn’t stop staring. They must have sprung up overnight (if you count fall and winter as overnight, then yeah, sure). Those two half grapefruit-sized hills were demanding my attention, and in a way, my attention had never been demanded by my baby sister before.

“David, do I look okay like this?” she asked shyly, her gaze looked hopeful.

She knew that she could always trust me to be honest with her. I dragged my eyes up to her face; it still hadn’t registered completely, that new appearance of hers.

“S-sure, Sis. Um, wow! You look great!” I stammered out. “Is that make-up you’re wearing?”

I could see some eyeliner and a hint of pink on her lips. I also noticed that she was wearing a jean skirt; it came down mid-thigh and showed her shapely legs down to her ankles. I couldn’t help but admire the curves that her legs were showing. I couldn’t remember her legs ever looking that nice before. Last summer, they had just looked like two twigs.

“Yeah, just a little,” she said shyly.

Her long blonde hair swept back into a high ponytail, and her piercing green eyes gazed at me imploringly. I couldn’t help but notice her beauty. Her angelic visage with her pouty, pink-tinged lips looked gorgeous. Her face had a natural flush that made her glow. It hit me then, and it hit me hard (see the thunderstruck comment earlier), that my little sister was damn hot. The fact that her shirt was tight, and showed off her curves and mounds, made my cock twitch involuntarily. That her hips also flared out, which was accented by the jean skirt that clung to it, didn’t help the twitching. Neither did the two gorgeous legs sticking out from the skirt either. For the first time in my life, I saw my sister in a sexual way.