Chapter 3

It wasn't very long after that birthday that things between my sister and I began to get complicated. Nothing bad happened - it wasn't like Mom and Dad caught us screwing each other or anything like that. In fact, the sex between us continued on a regular basis and left both of us completely satisfied. But the relationship between us changed in subtle ways. Amanda began telling me things - things that she had kept hidden deep inside herself. These were things that I would never have guessed about her. I had always looked on her as being in control of her life - of being the self-confident type - so it shocked me when she told me how full of self-doubt she sometimes felt. After all, she was extremely attractive, highly intelligent and had always been our parent's favorite. You would think she had it made - and you would have been wrong in your conclusions.

"Sometimes I just feel so down on myself," she had said.

"I don't understand," I told her. "You've always had lots of friends. Hell, you practically had to beat the boys off with a stick."

"You're right," she responded. "You really DON'T understand. I've never had that many friends - not real friends. Not people I could confide in or trust implicitly. I was part of the high school elite because I've been blessed with good looks, had a bitchin' car, and my father would indulge my whims and hand me money whenever I asked. Every one of the girls I hung with was exactly the same. We had looks, money, and cars. That's what everyone cared about. In fact, that's ALL anyone cared about. No one really cared about us. Hell, we didn't even care about each other. We just wanted to be seen with the 'right' people - the 'right' crowd."

"But you still had friends, didn't you?"

"Not really. Half of the girls I hung with were the most moronic airheads you could imagine. I didn't have that much in common with them. But I stuck with them. I was trapped - I couldn't find any way out."

"Trapped?" I responded. "What do you mean 'trapped'?"

"I mean I was part of the elite. God forbid that I should violate the boundaries of the group." She looked at me sadly. "Do you remember Cindy Hartwell?"

I had to search my memory banks a bit for that name. Cindy Hartwell? She had been in the same graduating class as Amanda and several years ahead of me. I was finally able to lock onto a mental image of her.

"Oh yeah, I know who she is. Kinda nerdy, mousy brown hair. Real smart though. Isn't she the one that got that Fulbright Scholarship?"

"That was her. I used to listen to her talking to her friends. She was so smart! There wasn't anything she couldn't discuss. I so wanted her to be my friend."

"Really?" I asked, intrigued by this revelation. "So why didn't you just tell her?"

"Are you kidding? I couldn't do that. She wasn't part of OUR crowd. Remember looks, money, and cars are what counted. Cindy came up short across the board. She was still riding the school bus her senior year."

This statement staggered me. I had never thought of my sister as being petty. "You've got to be kidding. I know you better than that. That's not the way you think."

"No, it's not," she agreed. "Which is why I wish now that I had approached her."

"So why didn't you?"

"Peer pressure," she responded. "Cindy wasn't ugly, but she was hardly drop-dead gorgeous either. Even worse, she didn't have THINGS. Her mother's a widow and has to work to support her kids. There are seven of them in that family, Ken - the mother and six children. Being a working mother who is the sole support for six children just doesn't leave much for more than the bare necessities."

"You seem to know a lot about Cindy Hartwell and her family," I observed.

Amanda shrugged. "I read about her when she got her scholarship. There was a big write-up in our local paper. And there were other things. I used to see her counting her money in the lunch line like there might not be enough to last the week. Sometimes I would hear things being whispered about her - snide little remarks like 'Aren't you glad you don't have to get by on her bank account?' Those kinds of things. Things I listened to and that I'm ashamed to say I never said anything about."

"More peer pressure?"

"I'm afraid so. You know how it is."

Unfortunately, I knew exactly "how it is". There is probably no crueler, closed minded, clique-ridden society in this world than your local high school. Everybody looks down on everyone else who's not part of their group, and God help anyone who isn't part of SOME group. The loners are lower than dirt - the lowest of the low. Even the heavy dopers rank higher. And it doesn't matter if your sense of superiority isn't based on merit - on some accomplishment of your own. Indeed, the ones who feel most superior are those who haven't done anything but who have merely been lucky - the ones born into money and/or privilege. I couldn't condemn my sister for acting the way she had. I was still a high school student myself. I had acted exactly the same way on more than one occasion, and I probably would do so again.

"I know," I assured her. "I've been there myself."

"Pretty shallow, huh? I wish I had cared less back then what other people thought. I was so happy for Cindy when she got her Fulbright. She had worked so hard for it. But of course I never told her. The elite can't bother to communicate with the rabble, you know," she said sarcastically. Then, the sadness showing in her eyes, she continued, "I should have told her."

"But you were 'trapped'," I offered.

"Right," she agreed. "I was part of the elite group. I might not like or even be able to stand half of my companions, but I belonged. It would have been a real risk to step outside the group. Or so I thought back then."

"And you don't think that way any more?" I inquired.

"I'm trying to change, Kenneth. I really am. I'd like to think that maybe I'm starting to grow up. Part of it is being in college. I'm suddenly an outsider there. Here in grade school and high school everyone knew me and I knew every else. In college I'm just another student. People judge you a lot different there. You've got to give other people a reason to like you."

"I'm sure you're doing fine. You've never had problems getting people to like you in the past."

"I hope so." Amanda replied seriously. "It hasn't been easy getting other people to like me for myself."

"I find that hard to believe."

"You'd be surprised. It's so hard to find real friends. The kind of friends that Cindy has."

"So why don't you look Cindy up if you admire her so much? I'm sure you could do it."

"I'm afraid it's too late now. What has she got in common with me? I should have taken my shot at it when I had the chance."

"Well, never say never," I responded, trying to brighten up her dark mood. "Who knows? Maybe you'll get another chance. I'm sure Cindy would like you if she ever got to know the real you. You're really a very special person, Amanda."

My sister looked at me skeptically. "You're just saying that because we're screwing each other."

"Not true," I protested. "You were a special person to me long before we became lovers."

"That's nice of you to say, but if you really liked me as much back then as you claim you did you sure had a funny way of showing it," my sister admonished me.

I had to admit she was right in her observation. "We were in our sibling pissing-match mode at the time," I responded defensively. "And I don't exactly remember you treating me like Prince Charming back then either."

"Point taken," my sister capitulated. "I couldn't let on that I had any positive feelings toward you. We didn't have that kind of relationship."

"I know. But I did love you, even if I didn't say anything."

"So I've learned," she affirmed, her mood brightening. She leaned into me, kissing me softly, the brushing of her lips on mine offering a promise that would be redeemed some time in the future when our parents weren't in the house.

I returned the kiss in the spirit in which it was offered, happy that my sister's dark mood had passed.

And I really did enjoy the later redemption of her kiss's promise.

But not all of Amanda's secrets were as easily dismissed. Some of them were of a darker nature.

It had been spring break at her college - semester break at my high school - and so, after both our parents had left for work and Amanda knew we had the house to ourselves for the day, she had surprised me from my sleep by slipping naked into my narrow bed. She was soon riding my morning hard-on, providing me with a very nice orgasm (and herself with two) to greet the new day. Afterwards we began to talk, me laying on the rumpled sheets of my bed and relaxing in the post-coital warmth I felt while my sister donned my robe and sat at the foot of my bed.

"That felt sooooo good," my sister cooed. "You've become quit a cocksman since I started tutoring you."

"How can you say that?" I inquired with amusement. "You did all the work."

"No, I mean it, Kenneth. You're a great lover. You're soft and gentle with me. You don't just see me as two tits and a wet pussy. You love me enough to care about my pleasure as much as your own." She sighed, "I wish I had been with someone like you the first time I had sex."

"Oh?" I responded, intrigued. "Your first time wasn't that good?"

"It was awful!" she affirmed. "How about you? How was your first time?"

I gave her a sly little smile. "Okay, I guess. The heavens didn't open and fireworks didn't go off, but I enjoyed it."

"So who was the lucky girl?" she continued, pressing for an answer.

"Amanda, I'm not sure I should tell you. You know I don't talk about the girls I've slept with."

"That's only because you don't want to get a reputation as a blabbermouth," my sister wisely observed. "You'd rather maintain the option of getting laid again in the future."

I had to admit she was right. "True enough. Still, I'm not comfortable discussing who I have had sex with. It just doesn't seem the proper thing to do."

My sister gave me a very skeptical look. "Not even with me? And don't try pulling that 'proper thing to do' routine. Not after you've been fucking me - your sister - for months now." Amanda continued to cajole me, "Besides, I'm not asking for your whole little black book. I'm only asking who the first one was."

Becoming convinced that continued resistance to her probing would be futile, I surrendered. "All right, you win. My first was Sandy Morris."

"Sandy Morris?" my sister repeated, amazed. "Seems to me that I remember she had quite a reputation. Wasn't she known as one of the school sluts?"

"What can I say?" I replied, blushing. "I was barely sixteen at the time and horny as hell. Sandy was known to be ready, willing, and able. And she knew the rules - I wasn't looking for a relationship and I didn't want a girlfriend. I just wanted to get laid."

Amanda looked at me with reproach. "That's not exactly the most inspiring story I've ever heard," she admonished me.

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking at the time - at least not with my brain. Another part of my anatomy was making the decisions."

My sister gave me a sour look. "That's disgusting, Kenneth. I had hoped for better from you."

"Well, you live and learn. I'm not like that now. Or at least I try not to be."

"I should hope not," she agreed. Still, my sister's curiosity had not been satisfied. "So your first time was with one of the school sluts?"

"Afraid so," I acknowledged.

My sister insisted on pressing the issue. "So how was she?"

I sighed. It seemed that my sister wasn't going to be satisfied until I had given her all of the lurid details.

"Actually, she was great about the whole thing. I only lasted about sixty seconds that first time. She pretended I had done fine. Then she had us do it again - a bit more successfully. I managed to make her cum. That was a hell of a boost for my ego."

"Ah, a woman of the world," Amanda observed with insight. "She knew how to make you feel good."

"That she did," I had to agree. "We went out several more times after that before I had to drop her."

"Oh?" my sister inquired, awaiting an explanation.

"I started getting questions from the other guys. I wasn't following the rules. It was okay for me to go out with a girl like Sandy if all I wanted was a quick roll in the hay, but I wasn't supposed to actually start to like her. They started teasing me about it, declaring how 'Sandy had finally managed to capture some dumb sap with her wet pussy'. And yes, that's exactly how crudely they put it.

I felt totally intimidated. It wasn't long before I told Sandy I couldn't see her anymore."

My sister looked at me disapprovingly. "That wasn't very kind, Ken."

"If it makes you feel any better, I felt guilty about it afterwards," I replied defensively. "Sandy wasn't a bad person, even if her reputation was down the toilet. I learned a lot from that experience. Since Sandy, I've never had sex with any other girl where I felt that I was just using her."

My sister looked at me skeptically. "That's very noble of you," she replied sarcastically.

I continued explaining. "Look, I'm not talking about being in love with each of them, but I've always tried to look at every girl I've slept with as a person. You remember how you said I see you as more than two tits and a wet pussy? Sandy taught me that. I learned from my experiences with her. Although the situation has always been much different in your case. I love you, Amanda."

I could see my sister soften at that admission. "I know, Little Brother. I love you too."

"Anyway, that was the story of my first time." I continued, "So now it's your turn. Who was your first? Or do I even need to ask?"

Amanda shot me a dirty look, and then admitted, "If you mean Rick Heeley, you're right. He was the first."

I remembered Rick Heeley, the son of the chief-of-police in our small city. He had been the star of our high school football team despite his only being a junior, and at that point had been chosen as one of only two All-State pass receivers. I had seen him on the playing field. His hands were magic, able to pull any football out of the air that he managed to touch. And God, could he ever run. Even on those rare occasions that the other team caught up with him, it usually took two, and sometimes ever three tacklers to bring him down. At six foot four inches tall and two hundred thirty pounds of solid muscle, he was an impressive physical specimen and had already attracted the eye of several college recruiters, even though it would be almost another year before they could approach him.

Rick and Amanda had dated for a short period of time during their junior year of high school. Amanda had been a cheerleader and he had been attracted by her good looks, as had she been by his, but something had gone seriously wrong between them. They had suddenly stopped going together - I had never learned why. Amanda had never talked about it.

"I take it your first time wasn't all you had expected it to be?"

"You could say that," she confirmed. "Rick and I had been going out a couple weeks, and he had always been a perfect gentleman before that night. He had made two touchdowns that day and our team had made the playoffs, so everyone was in a party mood, and the coaches had subtly let it be known that violations of the team's "no drinking" rule would be overlooked as long as everyone was discreet about it. It was a classic case of 'don't look - don't tell'. We all ended up going to a beer bash at one of the player's homes and Rick and I both got pretty wasted. Anyway, he dragged me out of the party about eleven o'clock, and we ended up out at Mathew's Lookout."

Ah yes, I thought to myself. Mathew's Lookout. The local make-out spot. I'd taken a few girls there myself.

"All sounds pretty routine to me," I commented.

"That's what I thought too, but I was wrong. We started kissing, but he kept trying to push his tongue into my mouth. I tried to pull away, but he had a handful of my hair in his fist and kept pushing my face into his." My sister's voice became barely a whisper. "Then he started pawing me. He had one hand in my hair and the other one all over my breasts. I tried to push him away. It was like pushing on a brick wall. I couldn't budge him. I told him to stop. I told him I didn't want to do this. I begged him." Tears were flowing from my sister's eyes as she relived the memory. Then she continued relating the horror. "Do you know what he told me, Ken? Can you guess what he said?"

I didn't know how to respond. "No, I can't."

"He used my hair to pull my face away from his and said 'What's the matter? Don't you like me?' Then he threatened me. He said, 'I don't like cockteasers. You're not one of them, are you? You got a nice mouth - a real nice mouth. I've been thinking how nice it would be to have those lips of yours wrapped around my dick. Wouldn't that be nice?'.

I was appalled he would say something like that. I asked him not to make me do that. I told him someone might come along. That one of the cops that patrolled the area might see us. He laughed at me, Ken. Laughed in my face. He told me that all the cops in town knew his car. That he was a football hero and that the chief-of-police was his father. He told me how none of the cops were going to hassle him or place him in a potentially embarrassing situation."

I listened, shocked at the tale my sister was relating. I also believed every word that she was saying. I could remember the vehicle in question. I had admired it the few times that it had sat in our driveway. It had been a fire-engine red Shelby Mustang convertible. And looking back I could remember seeing it about town and noticing how often it had been illegally parked - even double parked - and how it had never seemed to ever have a traffic ticket on it. After all, what cop in his right mind would ticket the car belonging to the chief's son? I could see how that mindset could be extended to the cops looking the other way - or not looking at all - at other "indiscretions".

"Jesus!" I whispered, overwhelmed by my sister's revelation. "Did anything else happen?"

"Everything else happened!" she responded, the tears welling up in her eyes. "He told me to 'get his prick free and to get to work on it'." Amanda stared at me, reliving the moment, then confessed, "I did it, Ken. I was scared to death. I though he would beat the shit out of me if I tried to resist. I didn't want to, but I did what he told me to - I gave him his damn blowjob. I tried just sucking the head of his dick, but that wasn't enough for him. He tightened up on that fistful of my hair he was holding and pushed my face all the way down into his crotch. I started to gag. I'd never gone down on anyone like that. I think I would have thrown up all over him if I hadn't been so deadly afraid of what he would do to me if I did. He had his cock so far back into my throat that I couldn't breath. I though I was going to pass out until he started jerking my head up and down on his cock, masturbating himself with my mouth. I was too afraid - too in shock - to do anything to stop him. Finally he pulled me off his dick. He cursed me. He said I was the lamest cocksucker he had ever met. Then he said that I had better be a hell of a lot better with my pussy than I was with my mouth. He wanted me to fuck him. No, that's wrong. He didn't WANT me to fuck him. He DEMANDED that I fuck him. I begged him to let me go. I told him that I was a virgin. I thought that maybe that would make him stop."

I heard the trembling in my sister's voice as she related her story. "But it didn't?' I asked, already knowing the answer.

"It just made him angry. He asked me what kind of dumb-ass did I think he was. He told me that there was no way a 'girl like me' could still be a virgin. Then he really scared me - even more than he had before. He grabbed me by the throat and said - and this is an exact quote - 'I know you're lying to me. I told you how I feel about cockteasers, so unless you want to be real sorry you'll get on your whoring back and fuck me.' I was terrified. I wasn't even worried any more that he might hurt me. I was afraid he might KILL me if I didn't obey. I let him drag me out of the car. He made me take my panties off and then pushed me onto the ground. I was sobbing when he got between my legs. He put my hand on his cock and told me to 'put it in'. I did what he wanted, so scared that I wasn't even thinking about resisting. I wasn't ready for sex. I had no lubrication. When he pushed into me it hurt like hell. He just kept pushing until I felt something rip inside me, and suddenly he was jammed in me up to his balls. Then he fucked me like a rutting pig until he'd dumped his load inside me, and when he was finished doing me, he got up, leaned on the fender of the car and lit up a cigarette. He just stood there and had a smoke. He didn't even help me get to my feet afterwards. I had to crawl around to find my panties, and then staggered on my hands and knees until I could stand. I was forced to lean against a tree to get dressed. I eventually managed to get my panties halfway back up my legs before I lost it. I started crying uncontrollably. I was a mess. There was dirt and pine needles sticking to my back and I had blood and cum running down my inner thighs. I needed help. I begged Rick to help me clean up. It was totally humiliating. After everything he had done to me I was forced to ask him for assistance. I told him I couldn't go home looking like I did. I think he was a bit scared when he looked at me and realized I'd been telling him the truth about being a virgin and when he saw how bad I was. He got me a box of Kleenex from the back seat, which I used to clean myself up as best I could. I shoved a wad of tissues into my panties to try to contain the leakage from my vagina. I asked him to take me home. And can you guess what he said then?"

"At this point," I told my sister in sympathy, "I wouldn't be surprised at anything."

"He asked me if I was going to bleed on his seats," she informed me with indignation. "He was more concerned about his goddamn genuine leather upholstery getting messed up than he was with the fact that I had blood and semen running out of me because he had just finished damn near raping me."

"Amanda," I told her gently, "Rick didn't just 'damn near rape' you. He DID rape you. It doesn't matter that you went along with it. You did that out fear and intimidation. You were afraid for your life. That's still considered rape under the law. What he did was a criminal act." I sought to comfort her, lowering my voice to a gentle whisper. "Why didn't you tell anybody? We would have stood by you no matter what."

My sister couldn't look at me, her eyes downcast. "You don't understand what it was like, Ken. You really don't. I was so ashamed of what had happened to me. The truth was that I HAD been attracted to Rick. If he had treated me decently he probably would have gotten into my panties within a few more dates. I would have let him take my virginity. As perverse as it sounds, I felt that he had treated me the way he did because of something I had done wrong."

"But that's crazy!" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

"Isn't it though?" my sister nodded in agreement. "When Rick dumped me off at the end of the driveway and drove away, I was an emotional wreck. I was still hung over, bruised and bleeding, and overwhelmed with feelings of worthlessness. I hid myself in the garage and bawled my eyes out for the next two hours. When I had finally got myself back under control, I snuck in the house, cleaned myself up, put myself to bed and tried to pretend that the whole thing hadn't happened. But it had... I couldn't escape that fact. When I saw you in the hallway the next day I wondered if it showed - if you could see that I had changed - but you just treated me the way you always did back then."