Chapter 1

I was playing a video game and had just died for probably the fifteenth time in a row when my sister called me into her bedroom. I needed a break anyway, so I answered her bellow. I found her standing in front of the open walk-in closet looking unhappy.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“I’m going out with Dennis Holly tonight. I want to wear something sexy but I don’t know what.”

“You have a closet full of sexy clothes, I’ve seen you wearing all kinds of hot stuff. So what do you want?” I repeated.

She looked up at me. “Help me, I can’t decide what looks good. You’re a guy. What kind of outfit turns you on?”

“You do realize how weird this is,” I said. “What would your friends say if they found out you asked your brother what looks sexy?”

She didn’t rise to the bait.

“Come on, Bobby,” she whined. “You’ve been going on dates for years. You know how to do this. I don’t.”

She was right. I was seventeen and had been on a lot more dates than her. She was fifteen years, six months old, which seemed like an arbitrary age, except she’d gotten her first babysitting job, and that was when she’d negotiated with our mother about getting a phone and being allowed to date. She had a nine o’clock curfew and this was only her second date, and she was already thinking about dressing sexy!

I stepped back from my sister and looked her up and down. She stands about 5’6, comes in around 115 pounds. Her chest is much bigger than any of her girlfriends, something that had embarrassed her until recently. Until she was fifteen years, six months old, to be precise. For a girl not yet sixteen, she was built. If I didn’t know better I would have thought she was a junior. She’s got a pretty face when she isn’t being a bitch, and her sandy blond hair falls in easy curls to the middle of her back. She was wearing Daisy Duke jeans shorts and a white halter tied at the waist so her midriff and belly button were showing. She hated bras and halter tops were the only outfits she was allowed to go braless in.

“Well,” I said, “where is he taking you? You should dress for the situation, right?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

I shrugged.

“Wear what you have on, that’s pretty hot.”

“This is too casual. You know that. What girl have you ever picked up who was dressed like this?”

“None, but if I had, it would have made my dick stiff.”

She ignored my crude comment. “You have to tell me what I should wear tonight, I’ll try on some stuff and you be the judge. Remember, it has to be sexy enough to get Dennis on his knees later. I want him to beg to see my boobs.”

“You’re not showing some kid your tits,” I growled.

“They’re my boobs,” she said. “I can show them to whoever I want to.”

“If Dad finds out you’re flashing your tits, your dating days will come to a screeching halt,” I said. “You’re lucky he lets you date at all.”

“Who’s going to tell him? You?”

“No,” I said. “I wouldn’t rat you out. But why do you want to do sexy anyway? Dates are supposed to just be for fun.”

“Feeling sexy is fun,” she argued. “C’mon, Bobby. You have to help me.”

“Okay, I will, on one condition. You have to promise your tits is all anybody will get to see.”

“Why do you care?” she asked, her voice scornful.

“Because any guy who gets to see your pussy is going to want to put his dick in it, and I don’t need a pregnant sister,” I said.

I was trying to shock her, but she just stared at me.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you love me,” she finally said.

There was more scorn in her voice, and the casual observer might have winced, thinking she wasn’t helping her cause. The truth was that we were really quite close. When your father is a long haul trucker and your mom works as a waitress and is going to night school, you sort of have to raise yourselves, and it’s a lot easier to do that as a team than separately. We helped each other all the time, whether it was cooking, laundry, homework, or just about anything else. The only reason I hadn’t agreed to her request immediately was because I wasn’t crazy about her going on dates. I knew what I tried to get girls to do on dates and thinking about other guys doing that to her made my stomach queasy.

The time for sibling rivalry was past. This was important. She had no idea what lengths guys would go to, to get their dicks wet, and she was a prime candidate for that pastime.

“I do love you,” I said. “I know what guys want, and if you get too sexy, they’re going to try to take it. I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to get raped, or even scared.”

“I get it,” she said. “But I still want to feel sexy. Please, help me pick something out.”

I sat on the edge of her bed then relaxed back on a pillow. We got a weekly allowance and Cathy spent most of hers on clothes. I hadn’t paid any attention to that until now. Her closet was packed. Cathy flicked hangers this way and that and pulled five things off the hangers and tossed them to the bed. All together the five dresses looked like they might have been made from enough material to maybe make a bed sheet. A single bed sheet. Maybe. Skimpy was the best word I could think of for any of them and she hadn’t even put them on, yet. I was expecting her to hold the dresses up against her cute body and ask my opinion but once she had her selections she said, “Okay, I’ll try these on.” She glanced at her adjoining bathroom for a couple of seconds and I was thinking she would go in there to change. After a short hesitation my sister surprised the crap out of me by dropping her shorts and pulling off her halter. In seconds she was standing unabashedly in front of me wearing just a blue lace thong. While I stared at her firm, jutting tits with large pale brown areolas and fat nipples my prick began to do what guys’ pricks do when they see a hot chick.

She saw me looking.

“What are you staring at? You’ve seen me like this before,” she said.

“No, I have not,” I sighed. “The last time I saw you naked was when we still took baths together. Man, Cat, you should have warned me. I’m pretty sure guys aren’t supposed to think about their sisters like this.”

She snickered, “Don’t tell me my brother is a pervert. You’re supposed to react to the clothes, not my boobs.”

“What cave have you been living in? The clothes bring attention to the body. When you’re wearing something sexy, the guy imagines it lying in a pile on the floor. He’s thinking about what the clothing covers.”

While I talked, Cathy stretched her arms over her head and slipped a yellow knit sheath down her arms and body. When her arms were straight up, her boobs lifted, like they were shoulders shrugging. My mouth watered. Once the dress covered her, she adjusted the waist, pulled at the hem which was only a couple of inches below those panties, then spun to look over her shoulder in the full-length mirror.

“Mmm, it makes my butt too big, don’t you think?”

“No, but the color isn’t right for your hair.”

The yellow knit was quickly discarded. As she was stripping, my cock grew even harder, it was beginning to get uncomfortable in my pants. She put on a blue sequined outfit next. She owned a sequined dress! Who knew? I’m sure my mom didn’t. It was nice but too fancy and didn’t show enough cleavage. The blue garment joined the yellow in a heap. By the time she had put on the third one, solicited my opinion, and then stripped free of it, my balls were churning. It was a good thing our father had never seen these dresses. He’d throw her in the basement and lock her up until she was twenty-five.

“This is making me uncomfortable,” I said. I didn’t mean that I was uncomfortable on a cultural or moral basis. What guy would turn down seeing a hot chick naked ... even if she was his own sister. I meant I was physically uncomfortable because I had on tight pants.

“So ... get comfortable,” she said. Her attention was on the next dress.

“In this case, getting comfortable would mean taking my pants off, and if I do that, you’re going to see just how sexy you already are,” I said.

“So you are a pervert,” she said, merely glancing my way.

“I’m a guy, and any guy would react this way to what you’re doing. That’s what I’m trying to warn you about. Any guy who sees you like this is going to want to try to fuck you.”

“You haven’t,” she said, all sassy and cute.

“Yet!” I said, trying to intimidate her.

“Show me what you got, big talker,” she teased.

So I took off my jeans. I felt stupid in briefs and a shirt, so I took the shirt off, too. The front of my Fruit of the Looms bulged obscenely.

“Oh,” she said. Her voice sounded a little faint and she wasn’t so cocky, now. I suppose, if you want to be all technical, I was the cocky one. Or my cock was. My cock was definitely ... cocky.

I had to hand it to her. She was a trooper. She went on with the show like a veteran of Broadway.

Next she put on a white mini dress that was thin enough I could see the blue color of her thong through it.

“If you wear that, you’ll need flesh-colored panties,” I said.

She turned and looked at her butt in the mirror.

“You can see the lines,” she pouted. “It looks awful.”

She bent over, reached under the skirt of the dress, and took off her thong. Then she looked in the mirror again.

“That’s better,” she said.

“So now you want to go both braless and commando?” I protested.

“It looks better,” she repeated.

“Yeah, and it’s better for the guy, too. Now all he has to do is slide his hand up your leg and he’ll get a handful of hot pussy.”

“Don’t be so crude,” she said. “I can keep my legs closed. I’m not ready to have sex, Bobby. Ewww. I just want to feel sexy.”

“And any guy who finds out you don’t have panties on is going to want to feel your moneymaker.”

“Oh really? Well, maybe the guys I go out with will have more class than you,” she said.

Something sort of snapped in me. At least that’s what I think happened. I’ve thought about this many times since then and I’m sure that, before this, I wouldn’t have even thought about doing what I did.

What that was, was that I got up and went behind her. I reached around with my hands and cupped her titties. They were just as soft as they looked.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

Before she could say anything, or do anything, I slid my right hand down, under the skirt and up to her soft, blond pubes. I pushed my middle finger between her labia, which were slippery, by the way, which meant she was turned on, too. Then I diddled my sister’s clitty, sawing my finger up and down.

“Ohhhhh,” she groaned. Her hands came to resist, and my head cleared. I let go of her. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. I felt like running away, but I had too much pride or something. I went and sat on the edge of the bed again. I talked before she could scream at me.

“You’re too accessible,” I said. “You can’t just lay it all out there and expect the guys to keep their hands off. And when a guy moves, it can be fast, faster than you can deflect.”

That little blue thong was still in her hand. She threw it at me.

I caught it. Do not ask me why, but I brought it to my nose. Well, I suppose you don’t need to ask me why. What I meant was that I didn’t do that on purpose. It seemed I was doing a lot of things on impulse that day.

Her eyes got even bigger and she stalked over and jerked her thong away.

“You smelled my panties, you lowlife perv.”

“Sorry,” I said, automatically. “But this proves my point. I’m your brother, for pity’s sake, and sexiness can even get me going.” I blinked. “I mean your sexiness.”

“I know what you meant, you moron,” she growled. “You sniffed my panties, Bobby! I would never sniff your underwear!”

“Apples and oranges,” I croaked.

“What?”

“It’s not the same thing.”

She stared at me. Her eyes dropped to my lap.

“Stand up,” she ordered.

I expected her to say, “Now leave!” when I did, so I stood. She didn’t say that, though. Instead, she stared at the front of my briefs, which were stretched way out.

“You have a boner,” she said, needlessly.

“Uh ... yeah,” I said. My tone of voice said, “Well, duh!”

“And I caused it,” she said.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Dressing sexy leads to this problem.”

“Even if you’re my brother,” she said, pounding another nail in my coffin.

“Guys are just built this way,” I tried.

“This is what the Me, Too Movement is all about, Bobby,” she said.

“Maybe,” I said. “My point is that if you dress like that, it’s going to get the guy going and even if he’s a decent guy, he can only take so much before he snaps. That’s what just happened. I snapped. I’m not proud of it. But it happened, and it can happen to the guys you go out with, too. I’m not saying it’s cool, or right, or acceptable or any of that. I’m just saying you make it more likely if you dress like that. It’s just nature. It’s how dudes are built.”