Chapter 1: Justin - An Introduction

I'm Justin Robertson and my life is B.O.R.I.N.G boring. Mostly I suspect that's my fault, but I'll get to that in a minute.

I'm 17-years-old and live I with my parents, as of course do most 17-year-olds. My father - Louis - is a 36-year-old jovial giant with dark hair, while my mother Mary is a good-looking 34-year-old brunette with a stunning 36C-23-36 figure. I know that because I went with mum to a dress fitting one Saturday morning, a chore you can just bet I wasn't happy with. Not that with my life I had very much else to do, but I'll get to that in a minute as well.

As for me, well that's a rather more distressing tale. I'm big-boned with a poor metabolism. Which, of course, means that my unfortunate diet of McDonalds, KFC, Burger King, Pizza Hut and fish and chips adheres to these bones very easily. But I am at least doing something about it. In fact I'm in the middle of a concentrated exercise regimen with an accompanying diet that over the last six months has taken my weight from a decidedly unhealthy 112 kilograms (248 pounds) to a fairly healthy, but still far from satisfactory, 92 kilograms (203 pounds).

I have thick curly black hair and clear, and evenly tanned skin along with, or so my mother says, handsome, and slightly boyish, good looks. But what would she know? I mean mothers have to be just a little biased don't they?

Well now that you've been introduced to my parents and have got to know something about a little a big old fat boy like me what about the rest? What about the stuff I hinted at before? Well I don't have a girlfriend and I'm painfully shy, mainly because up until recently I'd been that fat boy with, of course, the personality of a dead fish.

Every girl I ever asked out, and believe me when I tell you that it took some courage to pop that question, said no, and if they didn't laugh themselves silly then the expressions of disgust and abject horror that someone like me would even have the cheek to ask were like a slap in the face.

Oh there were other boys in my class with physiques similar to mine, or even worse, and they hadn't even made an attempt to do anything about it. But of course they had none of my problems with girls because they had larger than life personalities that immediately made the girls forget about their appearance.

Not that you could blame my parent's for my shy demeanour and lack of success with the opposite sex. Being the randy and sexually liberated couple they are they did everything they could to encourage and promote some sort of sexual drive. They allowed me a free reign to go where I wanted. Allowed me to read all varieties of pornographic books and magazines. And of course they allowed me to watch any of the fine collection of adult video and DVD movies they had built up over a number of years on my own state-of-the-art electronic equipment in my well-appointed bedroom.

No, allowing for all of the above it is totally the fault of all those rejections. After all for a boy like me, how many humiliating verbal slaps in the face are you expected to take before you stop trying, before you take yourself out of circulation? In my case it was about twelve before I gave in and stopped making any effort to socialize outside of my family.

So what do I in the meantime? I go about my daily life that's what. I go to school, do my homework and when that's done I read those magazines (look at the pictures?) and books and watch the occasional pornographic video or DVD while I take myself in hand. I also watch my parents and marvel at the easy way they talk to each other and their friends, and at the stimulating sensual atmosphere that is almost immediately created. Occasionally I'll sit in the lounge when they have visitors and manage a stilted, embarrassing addition to the frequently risqué conversation. But most times - particularly on Saturday nights - I'll play snooker at a local parlour, pay a rare visit to the pictures or, as is most likely, watch television in my room. Especially when they have one of their special parties.

Those parties, of course, are really nothing more than sexual orgies to which, until a couple of months ago, my parents used to invite me. Eventually, as of course you would expect, they gave up when I kept saying no.

Now you'd think that someone like me would have jumped at the chance to go to that sort of party wouldn't you? But it tells you the extent of my problem when, as obsessed with sex as I am, I still can't bring myself join in, even in the comfort and safety of my own home with my parents and several of their very best friends.

Well that brief synopsis - very brief really - has brought you up to date with where my life's at and there's not really much else you need to know about my past history. Now it's time for me to begin the story of how my parents, a remarkable young lady, her family and a number of other wonderful people turned my life around in the space of nine remarkable days.

This particular morning - as the chapter heading says it's a Friday - I beat the alarm set for six-o-clock. As usual I woke up with a hard-on, this one though was different from my usual morning stiffy. Usually my morning erection was a combination of an erotic dream that on the odd occasion turned wet, and my regular morning need to relieve my bladder. This morning I knew that this one, and don't ask me why, was for some reason just a piss-hard-on. But just to make sure I turned off the alarm and reached for TV and DVD remotes, turned them on, changed the TV channel to AV-3, the DVD channel, and flicked through the menu of the Jenna Jameson DVD I'd left in the player and waited for a reaction. As expected I got none and knew precisely why.

Next I reached across and picked up the book on the dresser. The book, a cheap well-thumbed paperback from my parents 'library', was a good example of how I spent my time when I wasn't exercising. I would use it to give myself a little of the pleasure my life seemed to lack, especially as I was just not capable of handling my parents parties and sexually active lifestyle.

The book told the tale of two randy sisters who share sexual favours with each other's boyfriends and their aunt and uncle and was very much how I wanted my life to be. And, as ridiculous as it sounds, I was even jealous of the characters in the book because they seemed to be living the sort of life my parents lived, the life I craved so much.

In some ways I was even jealous, envious might be a better word, of my parents and how they had managed to find a partner who was not only sexually compatible but also shared a liking of an open and free sexual lifestyle. I thought that somewhere in this world there were men, and women, lucky enough to be living lives like my parents; lives like the people in the book I was reading. Oh I knew of course that some did, otherwise my parents wouldn't have enjoyed the sort of Saturday night sexual free-for-all that was such a regular and enjoyable part of their liberated lifestyle. But I didn't know to what extent sexual freedom had taken over the town...

This sexual freedom was thanks, almost entirely, to the amazing, and very liberating, Sexual Freedom Charter the federal government had introduced in a whole range of sweeping reforms designed to either reduce or eliminate the alarming growth in sexual violence that all states and major cities - including Tasmania and its main population centres - were experiencing. The Sexual Freedom Charter that Australia was embracing - thanks to a Liberal Government that was living up to its name concerned the dress code for women and girls, and the sexual contact that was allowed from a younger age. Sexual contact was also permitted within the family unit, as long as there were no resulting pregnancies, a happening that would result in criminal charges and the immediate removal of the baby from the family in question. Also certain types of public sexual behaviour were allowed depending on the venue and its likely customer type, with the public retaining the right to ask the participants to refrain if they felt personally offended, or if they felt that their own personal space was being invaded.

And then of course there were the new and very liberal world-wide, at least in every western democratic country, censorship laws that allowed the making of and general release with an 'R'-certificate - newly changed to 13+ instead of 18+ - of non-violent erotica, formerly pornography. Pornography being a word now used to describe movies portraying violent, non-consensual sex, or paedophilic sex involving children under 13, or bestiality. The more liberal censorship also allowed for books and magazines, previously only found in specialised shops, to be more widely available in general bookstores - in their own department naturally. Of course they were still shrink-wrapped but the covers were as sexually explicit as ever and openly accessible to families, or more especially young children.

Indeed these new non-violent erotica originally produced to a high artistic standard by smaller studios as a replacement for those cheap and nasty pornos produced on the cheap as purely masturbation tools, became so popular in the general movie market place that Hollywood inevitably stepped in. And it was the major Hollywood studios becoming involved with superior production values, quality scripts from the best writers money could buy and quality B-list as well as a smattering of very high-ranking A-list stars, who could not only perform in front of the camera but could act as well, that caused the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences to add new categories on Academy Award night for non-violent erotica.

I moved my right hand beneath the covers and took hold of my cock, made stiff by that desire to go to the bathroom, to see if maybe a few strokes would encourage the feelings that were as much a part of my regime as my morning run. It took only three strokes for me to realise that nothing was going to work and, as I said before, I knew why...

As I got out of bed and started to think about a bitch called Julie Morris my penis went limp immediately. In the bathroom as I aimed the steaming stream of urine into the bowl I thought about the whole embarrassing incident from the previous afternoon. I'd known that Julie didn't have a partner for the end of year formal. In fact I'd known that the girl hadn't even been asked. So I'd thought that I was doing the girl a favour by at least asking her. What I hadn't expected was her incredulous reaction. 'ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING!' she'd screamed at the top of her voice at the end of the first of the afternoon classes in front of the entire class just before they been about to file out of the room. 'WHY THE FUCK WOULD I WANT TO GO TO THE FORMAL WITH A FAT, BLOATED, OVERSTUFFED TUB OF LARD LIKE YOU? I MEAN' she'd screamed 'I GET NAUSEOUS JUST FUCKING LOOKING AT YOU'. I remembered thinking that she hadn't even reacted that way when I'd asked her out once before about five months ago when my new diet and exercise regimen hadn't really begun to take effect. Admittedly she had had an expression of revulsion covering her face that day but she hadn't embarrassed me in front of the whole class like yesterday even though I was some twenty kilograms heavier.