Chapter 1

I was terrified when it happened. Terrified, that’s an overused word. I’m not exaggerating, though. I truly experienced terror. I was so frightened I nearly wet myself. I was walking home through the small park near my home just as I always do. I volunteer at Riverside after school. Riverside is an assisted living home not far from the catholic school I attend. I don’t have an official title like Candy Striper or anything. I’m just a volunteer. I go there for an hour after school and three hours every other Saturday unless something comes up. My schedule alternates. One week I volunteer on Tuesday and Thursday, the next week I’m there on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. The path through the park cuts almost fifteen minutes off my walk home. It isn’t dangerous. Everyone uses it. It’s a quiet park in a nice neighborhood. There aren’t any gangs or drug dealers. I’ve never heard of werewolves or vampires being spotted there. We hardly ever see a dinosaur. No one’s ever seen any serial killers in hockey masks as far as I know. I can’t remember ever hearing of anyone being bothered by anything more dangerous than a mosquito. I’ve been walking through the park since I first started school. Nothing has ever happened to me before. As far as I know nothing bad has ever happened to any of my friends there. If it has they never told anyone about it. On days when I’m not volunteering I walk home from school with all the other kids. I couldn’t be alone if I wanted to. But on my volunteer days I’m often alone. By the time I get to the park it’s an hour and a half later than I would normally walk home. The park usually isn’t completely deserted. But most of the kids are at home doing their homework or getting ready for dinner so it certainly isn’t crowded.

I was halfway through the park when it happened. I wasn’t paying much attention. I was walking along a short stretch of the path between two sharp curves. That section is lined with trees and shrubs and is hidden from view by anyone in the houses on the side streets and from people in the rest of the park. No one that isn’t on that fifty-yard stretch of the path can see what goes on there.

There was no warning. I experienced no premonition of danger. It was quiet and peaceful. I strolled along enjoying a beautiful late afternoon.

My whole world changed when I came around the first curve on the narrow trail. Suddenly a man wearing the remnants of a woman’s stocking over his head as a mask jumped out of the bushes and blocked my path.

I think my heart stopped for a moment. I tried to scream but no sound came out. I couldn’t even breathe! I thought I was going to faint. It seemed like at least ten or fifteen minutes passed before I was able to take a breath. I finally managed to get my lungs to work. I sucked in some life-giving oxygen and then drew a deep breath, preparing to scream for real.

Before I could scream for help the man ordered in a surprisingly calm voice, “Don’t make a sound.”

He didn’t threaten me. He didn’t even raise his voice! He wasn’t holding a weapon. For the life of me I’ll never know why I obeyed him. But I did. I exhaled loudly, expelling all the air I just drew in without making a sound and I stared at him, trying to decide if he’s someone from around here, someone I know.

The man seemed to smile, though it was hard to tell with that stocking he was wearing over his head. He looked at the way I was dressed and said, “A Saint Jo’s girl. I love that little Catholic School uniform. It makes you look so sweet and innocent.

“Are you innocent?”

I’ll admit I’m pretty naïve. But I’m not so naïve I didn’t realize what he was asking. I couldn’t answer, though. I was much too scared to speak.

When I didn’t respond he asked, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

I managed to whisper, “Angela.”

He nodded and said, “I thought so, a little angel. How old are you, Angela?”

“F-f-fourteen. Please, don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Angela. But I need you to do what I ask for the next few minutes. Then you can go.”

I want to believe him. But I don’t. I just know I’m about to be raped and murdered. In those stressful seconds as I contemplated my fate I was actually wondering what it feels like to die.

He looked around to make certain we were still alone. Then he turned back to me and said, “Don’t move.”

He lifted a camera to his face and took my picture!

I hadn’t noticed the camera until that very moment. It’s hanging from his neck but I was too scared to pay any attention. It’s a large digital camera. It looks expensive. Printed on the strap is the word Nikon in large yellow letters.

He took two more pictures and then ordered me ... no, he politely asked me to turn around slowly.

I couldn’t move.

He said, “I’m not going to hurt you, Angela. Remember? I told you, I just want you do to what I ask. I won’t harm you. The sooner you do what I want the sooner you can go. Now please do what I asked you to do. Turn around.”

His deep voice is so calm, so reasonable!

I somehow found the strength to make myself move, to make myself obey. I began to turn slowly. As I did I heard the camera clicking rapidly until I completed the circle and faced him again.

I came to a stop, wondering if that’s all he wants from me. I’m still not convinced I’m not going to be raped and murdered. But I have reason to hope. After all, he gave me his word.

I’m increasingly certain he’s smiling under his mask. When I came to a stop facing him he said, “We’re almost done. I want you to do one more thing for me and then I promise I’m going to let you go. I want you to lift your skirt up to your waist and turn around slowly again, just like you did a minute ago.”

My heart stopped again. What he’s asking me to do isn’t even possible! There’s just no way I can possibly do what he wants! I glanced around, hoping desperately to see someone, anyone who might come to my assistance and scare this man away.

No one! We’re alone in the middle of town!

I shook my head and whispered, “I can’t. I can’t do that.”

He sounded so sympathetic, so very understanding when he said, “You have to, Angela. I know you can do it. You have my word. I won’t hurt you. But I need you to do this one little thing for me. Just lift your skirt, turn around slowly and then you can leave. I’m not going to touch you. You don’t have to do anything else. Just that one simple thing.”

Simple!!

I stood there staring at him. I’m not thinking any longer. My brain seems to have shut down. I’m not trying to think of an excuse, some logical reason I can give him to explain why I can’t do what he’s asking of me. I’m not trying to devise some way of escaping. I’m not thinking at all.

We stood there like that with my heart beating so loudly I’m certain he must be able to hear it until he calmly urged, “Do it, Angela.”

As incredible as it seems, it’s obvious he fully expects me to comply with his bizarre request. And that’s all it had been! He didn’t order me. He didn’t threaten me. He merely asked me to expose myself to him and his camera as if doing so is the most normal thing in the world, as if people do this sort of thing all the time!

For some reason I’ll never be able to understand, my hands gripped the material of my plaid skirt and I slowly lifted it up to my waist. I swear I never made the conscious decision to obey him. It’s as though my hands were acting of their own volition!

I felt the pleasant, gentle breeze on my lower body as I pulled my skirt up to my waist. I watched in dismay as he took more pictures, quite a few of them by the sound of it. I stood there and watched him take pictures of my panties until he said, “Turn around, Angela.”

I turned around in a slow circle, moving to the snicking sound of the digital camera rapidly clicking away as it recorded my humiliation. That normally unobtrusive sound is roaring in my ears. Is this really all he wants? Or is this just the prelude to my rape?

I continued to turn until I was facing him again. He took several more pictures while I stood there meekly holding my skirt around my waist. I can almost feel the lens radiating heat as it focused on the place where my vulva pressed against my plain, white panties.

He finally lowered the camera. He smiled at me like we’re old friends and I’m a willing model and said, “You can go now, Angela. Thank you. You’re a beautiful young woman.”

I want to respond that I’m not a young woman, I’m a young girl. But I’m not about to hang around and debate the matter with him. He’s letting me go!

He didn’t move. I went around him cautiously, careful not to get close enough that he could reach out and grab me. I’m still not convinced it isn’t a trick, that he isn’t going to grab me, pull me into the bushes and do god knows what to me.

But he didn’t. He turned and watched me walk away.

I must have gone fifteen or twenty feet before I realized I’m still holding my skirt up around my waist! I let it fall back into place and glanced back over my shoulder.

He’s gone!

When I realized he was gone and I’m not going to be raped and murdered I finally started running. I ran around the curve in the path, out of the bushes and into the open where I can be seen by people in nearby houses and in cars driving by. There are several people walking toward the park from the other side of the street. I felt safer when I saw them. I stopped running. But now that the ordeal is over and I’m safe I can’t stop shaking.

I hurried home to tell my parents what happened so they can call the police. When I got there the rest of the family was already sitting down to eat.

Mom didn’t even look up. She said, “Hi, honey. You’re late. Sit down.”

I stood there looking at my mother and my father, my sister and my twin brothers and suddenly knew I can’t tell them what happened to me. I can’t tell my father and my brothers about what I just did in the park, or had done to me. I’m not sure which is more correct. Maybe I should wait and tell my mother later. I’m suddenly certain I can’t talk about it in front of the entire family, especially not in front of the twins. That would be far too embarrassing. And after all, the man in the stocking mask is long gone now. I doubt very much he’s waiting around for the police to show up and arrest him.

No. I can’t tell my family what just happened. Knowing my horny little brothers the way I do, I don’t doubt they would be amused. The little perverts have been trying to peek at my sister and me for a couple of years now. They’re always trying to look up our skirts or down our tops. I caught them at the bathroom door trying to sneak a look at Lisa when she was in the shower not long ago!

They’re only thirteen. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like to live with them when they’re older!

Even though I did nothing wrong and despite the fact that the pervert in the park never touched me, after a moment’s thought I came to the reluctant conclusion I’m too embarrassed to tell either of my parents. And as I replay the events in my head it’s already starting to sound to me as if I were somehow complicit. He didn’t threaten me. He just asked me to lift my skirt and turn around while he took pictures of my underwear! And I did!

I started to speak. It didn’t come out too well. I cleared my throat and said, “You guys go ahead and get started. I’m going up and get out of my school clothes and wash up. I’ll be right back down.”

I thought I sounded stressed but no one else seemed to notice.

I hurried upstairs to the bedroom I share with my older sister. It’s a fairly large room. My bed is against the wall on my left. Lisa’s is on the other side of the room. Between our beds pushed up against the far wall our two desks are pushed together facing each other so that when we sit at our desks we can see each other across the two desks. We each have our own computer now. We tried sharing when we got the first one but that didn’t work out well. Now we’re a five-computer household. It makes for a lot less stress that way.

I headed for the walk-in closet we share. It’s just inside the bedroom door on the right. I was going to get a hangar for my school blazer. I stopped when I saw my reflection in the full-length mirror on our closet door.

I stood looking at my reflection and tried to see myself through that pervert’s eyes. Did he single me out? Has he been watching me? Did he take the time to learn my schedule or was I just a target of opportunity?

Did something about the way I look make him think I’d do what he wanted me to do without screaming for help or fighting him? Do I look like a girl who’s so easy to subdue?

I stared at my reflection, unable to answer any of those questions. I couldn’t see anything to differentiate me from all the other girls who walk through that park every day. I have to believe he didn’t choose me in advance, that he wasn’t there waiting specifically for me. It was just bad timing. I was there when he was there and no one else was around.

What I did next kind of scared me after I had a few seconds to think about it. I lifted my skirt to my waist. I want to see what he saw. I stared at my plain, white panties and tried to imagine what I looked like to him. I turned slowly, watching my reflection and imagining what I must have looked like through the viewfinder of his camera. It was an unusual experience. I’ve never tried to imagine what I look like through a man’s eyes before.

When my back was to the mirror I looked over my shoulder. I’m blushing furiously, almost overwhelmed by the knowledge that a strange man saw me this way not fifteen minutes ago.

But now I’m not just embarrassed. I’m aware of something else creeping into my consciousness, something nearly as disturbing as my encounter with that old pervert! Now that I’m safe at home I’m thinking about the act of lifting my skirt to show a man my underwear and allowing him to take pictures, and now I’m looking at what he saw ... saw and photographed so he can see me like this again whenever he wants to. But I’m feeling something besides fear and embarrassment now. I can feel a tingling warmth which seems to be radiating from my vagina. It makes me furious because I quickly recognized it for what it is. Picturing what just happened to me in the park, imagining myself lifting my skirt and displaying my panties to a strange man is turning me on!!

I heard footsteps on the stairs. I knew before she opened the bedroom door my parents sent Lisa up to check on me. I suddenly wish my sister and I were closer. I desperately want ... no, I need to talk to someone about what just happened to me.

But I can’t. I know now that I can’t tell my parents or the police or even my sister. I can’t tell anyone what just happened to me on the way home. If I do it might come out that after I got home to the safety of my room I became aroused by the idea of what just occurred in that tree lined section of the park.

I quickly removed my blazer and hung it up. I was taking my blouse off when Lisa came in to see what’s keeping me. She looked at me curiously. I thought for a minute she might have noticed something is troubling me.

If she did notice she doesn’t care. She asked sarcastically, “Did you fall asleep?”

I shook my head and mumbled, “Sorry. I’ll be right down.”

She nodded and left, closing the door behind her. I quickly changed into shorts and a t-shirt. I went down the hall to the bathroom, washed up and then went downstairs.

Everyone looked up as I entered the kitchen. Before anyone could say anything I apologized again. Mom asked if everything is alright. I nodded and sat down to eat dinner.

I tried to listen to the conversation during dinner. I very much want the distraction from what’s going on in my head. But I just can’t concentrate. Everything my family is saying sounds so inane. My mind is still trapped in the park. I’m totally preoccupied with thoughts of the man with the camera. Who is he? What will he do with the pictures? Will he be there again the next time I’m walking home alone?! Most disturbing of all, though, I can’t stop wondering if he thought I was sexy as he watched me lift my skirt and turn in a slow circle with my underwear exposed!

I stared at my plate, lost in thought. I noticed, however, that I was too embarrassed to look at my brothers. I thought of all the times they’ve tried to catch me in my underwear, or less, and all the times they’ve tried to look up my skirt. They aren’t even very sneaky about it. They almost seem proud of it! To them it’s just a game, almost a sport.

I don’t know how successful they’ve been. Not very, I don’t think. Not with me at least. They may have had better luck with Lisa. I’ve noticed she isn’t as careful around them ... or anyone else for that matter. But then, Lisa has had a bit of a problem with modesty, or maybe I should say a lack of modesty, for as long as I can remember.

I suddenly found myself wondering how the twins would react if they could see me the way the man in the park saw me, holding my skirt up to my waist and turning slowly to give them a good look at my lower body, covered only by my tight, clingy, form fitting underwear.

Somehow I managed to muddle through dinner, though I was so lost in my disturbing thoughts I didn’t hear most of what was said around the table. Lisa and I cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes. I went to my room to do my homework. As usual, Lisa did hers in study hall. She seldom brings a schoolbook home.

I’m the only one in the family who goes to Catholic School. We aren’t Catholics. We aren’t even religious. But the Catholic School is well known for its outstanding curriculum and I’m the only kid in the family who likes school and wants a good education.

Lisa couldn’t care less. She goes to school to socialize and because she has no choice. The twins are just as enthusiastic. I don’t know why I’m different. But I’m glad I am.

That difference is one of the reasons my sister and I aren’t close. She isn’t even a whole year older than me but we’re as different as night and day. We get along okay. We seldom argue. But we aren’t close. We aren’t friends. We talk and we sometimes do things together. The sad truth is, though, I’m closer to one or two of my friends at school than I am to her.

Allan and Alex, the twins, are almost two halves of the same person. They are inseparable and insufferable. They never do anything unless they do it together. They finish each other’s sentences like a couple who have been married for decades. And they are hell on wheels.

They’ve been especially difficult in the last two years. And in the last year it seems like all they care about is trying to see naked or semi-naked women or girls, and they don’t see any reason why Lisa and I aren’t fair game. It doesn’t matter to them that we’re their sisters.

Dad put software on their computers to keep them from visiting sexually explicit sites on the internet. Then he had to put that same software on our computers because they would sneak in and use them to visit those sites when we weren’t in our room. He has to constantly check their computer to see what they’ve been up to.

Lisa doesn’t actually seem to care. They annoy her sometimes. But she doesn’t get too upset about it. Whenever I say something to her about them she shrugs and tells me they can’t help it. They’re boys.

I think they need professional help!

It took me longer than usual to do my homework. I can’t stop thinking about what happened to me on the way home. I can still vividly remember how terrified I was at the time. But now, after a little time has passed, now that I’m safe in my own home, my perspective is changing and that scares me, too. The man who accosted me in the park is the only male to see me in my underwear since I was a little girl. Now I’m scared because of the after effect that strange event has had on me. I’m scared because the more I think about it the more I’m starting to find it exciting!

I know how totally inappropriate that response is. But I can’t help it. That’s what it’s morphing into.

It took me nearly twice as long as it should have but I finished my homework and packed up my book bag so it’s ready to go in the morning. I put my pajamas on and got ready for bed. But before I changed into my pajamas I spent a few more minutes in front of the full-length mirror on my closet door. I looked at my reflection, first in my bra and panties, then in the nude. I tried to imagine what thoughts would go through a boy’s mind if one were looking at me at this moment ... or at any moment.

A sudden thrill ran through me as I focused on my protruding vulva and thought about how much the opposite sex focuses on that particular part of the female body. They think about it all the time. They want it. They want to see it. They want to touch it. They want to invade it with their fingers and their penises, even with their tongues! It’s an almost constant craving and they have very little control over it. Just the thought of that part of a girl’s body causes physical changes in their own. I don’t think I ever fully appreciated the power of that small mound of flesh as much as I did at that moment!

The idea of it is exciting. I’m desirable! Boys, and men, want me! But even though I’ve been growing up with two horny boys and I have a very few friends who are members of the opposite sex I still don’t really understand them.

I know they’re different and that they seem even more focused on the difference in the sexes than girls are. Sometimes it seems as though even at their young age sex is the only thing on the minds of my twin brothers, and I mean that literally. Every word out of their mouths, every expression on their faces, every action they take is in some way an expression of desire, need, sex and sexuality.

They make comments about my body or Lisa’s body or some other girl they know, or just girls in general. Their remarks are usually right on the edge, verging on being off color but said in such a way as to make it seem like they’re just kidding around.

They make every effort to look up our skirts or down our blouses and they aren’t even discreet about it. I can no longer travel between the bathroom and my bedroom in a towel, though Lisa still does. She seems a lot less concerned with the possibility that one of the twins might see more than they should.

Suddenly I found myself wondering if she’s teasing the boys on purpose. I’ve noticed she’s often a bit careless about the way she sits in the living room when the boys are around. Or at least I’ve assumed she was being careless. Could she be teasing them on purpose?!

I stopped staring at myself in the mirror and put my pajamas on. I stretched out on my bed and tried to read my book for a while. It wasn’t working. Not even the latest very exciting book by my favorite author, Sully O’Connor, could take my mind off what happened to me today and the unusual preoccupation with thoughts of sex that has taken over my mind since that traumatic moment.

I put my book down when Lisa came in. I watched her getting ready for bed. Our eyes met several times as she undressed and put her sleep shirt and a clean pair of panties on. She stopped wearing pajamas more than a year ago.

She sat on her bed against the far wall and said, “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. What’s up?”

She’s probably just being polite. I doubt if she expects an answer. But I couldn’t stop myself. I’m desperate to talk to someone about what happened to me today.

I fear I may end up regretting it later, but I sat up and opened up to my sister, probably for the first time in my life.

“Something happened to me on the way home today.”

She knew from my somber expression and the tone of my voice that it was something serious. She sat quietly while I told her what happened. I had to control my temper when halfway through my brief tale she started to smile.

When I finished she shook her head and said, “Ange, do you know why we aren’t as close as two sisters our age probably should be?”

She didn’t give me time to answer. She said, “You’re a stick. No, you’re a holster for a stick. You’ve had a stick up your ass for as long as I can remember. I suppose you were born with a stick up your ass.

“It isn’t that you aren’t a nice kid. You are. You’re nice and your pretty and you’re sexy. But you take every damn thing so fucking seriously! It’s probably because of that damned Catholic school you’re going to. Your mind is being warped.”

I had to bite my tongue. I know she’s trying to make a point. But she knows how much I hate it when she uses words like that, especially the F word.

“Some guy saw your underwear. He saw a fucking piece of cloth! Big fucking deal! Did the world end? Are you pregnant now? Or worse yet, will you get a B on your report card?

“Jesus, Ange! Lighten up!

“You look and sound all upset. And I can understand why you were scared for the first minute or two when that guy jumped out of the bushes. But are you seriously going to try to tell me that it didn’t turn you on just a little when you lifted your skirt up and showed him those boring old, plain white granny panties you always wear?!”

She saw me blush. I guess that answered her question.

She grinned and said, “It probably did you a lot of good. I hope he’s out there again tomorrow, waiting to stop you and see what you’re wearing under your skirt.”

She stopped talking and looked at me for a minute. Then she asked, “Do you remember Jimmy Williams? He lived next door to us for a while. They moved out when you were six or seven.

“Do you remember what our favorite game was back then? Well, not you. But Dawn Baxter and me and Jimmy did it all the time.”

I knew in an instant the strange game to which she was referring. When our parents weren’t around, Jimmy would lie down in the grass in the backyard. Dawn and Lisa would run around him in a circle, jumping over his head time after time until they were tired and dizzy, with the sole purpose of giving him the opportunity to look up their skirts.

I remember the game she’s talking about. I remember that I didn’t understand why they were doing it. I remember that watching them made me feel vaguely uncomfortable and I didn’t know why. I also remember that they seemed to enjoy it as much as Jimmy did and I didn’t understand that because I knew they were being bad. I’m not sure if I knew why it was wrong. But even at that age I knew they weren’t supposed to let boys look up their skirts.

She saw that I remembered the game. She asked, “Why do you think we did that?”

When I didn’t answer she said, “Because it was naughty. Because it was exciting and we didn’t even really know why. We knew absolutely nothing about sex. But it had been drummed into us since we were four or five years old that we were to keep our knees together and we must never let a boy see our underwear.

“We didn’t know why it was wrong. We did know that when we were letting Jimmy look up our skirts we got a warm feeling that was almost narcotic in the way we reacted to it. You felt that for the first time today, didn’t you?”

My only response was to blush. She smiled and said, “You’re going to want to feel that again. Why do you think I flash the twerps all the time? I don’t mind giving them a treat. But that isn’t why I do it. I let them look up my skirt or sneak a peek at me in a towel because I enjoy it. Not because they do!”

I looked at her in shock. She just admitted she lets the twins look up her skirt! She smiled at the shocked expression on my face. Then, in a conspiratorial voice she almost whispered, “Do you know they peek at us in the shower?”

I felt a sudden adrenalin rush at the mere suggestion! What the hell is that all about?! I’m not like that ... like she is!!

She grinned at my obvious consternation at her latest revelation and explained, “When we’re in the shower they take turns opening the bathroom door and poking their heads in. They look at us through the shower curtain.

“They can’t see shit, of course. At most all they can see is our silhouette. But it turns them on anyway, probably because they know we’re naked. One of these days I’m going to buy one of those transparent shower curtains and give it to them for a present.”

My mind is spinning out of control. I have a million questions. But all I could think to ask was, “Do they know? Do they know you’re letting them look up your skirt?”

She rolled her eyes as if she’s convinced she’s talking to the dumbest girl in the world. At that moment I felt that way. “Of course not! That would ruin it! It always has to be an accident. Walk home from school with them tomorrow. I’ll show you my favorite trick.”

It took me forever to get to sleep that night. I had a lot to think about. And when I finally did get to sleep I had a lot of strange dreams. That’s understandable. It’s been a very strange day.

The next morning started out just as bizarre. Lisa awoke and sat up in bed. I was already awake but I certainly wasn’t well rested. I woke up several times during the night and each time it took me a long time to get back to sleep. But I’ve gotten all the sleep I’m going to get. It’s time to start getting ready for school.

Chapter 2 »