Chapter 1

I love being fourteen; I don't look like a little girl any more (Yeah!) and my body is a continuing source of fascination. In the past two years, my breasts have developed and I now wear a B-cup bra. Hooray, no more A's.

I also have a waistline and hips and my legs look great, not just sticks. I just love standing naked in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom. My boobs are not real big but they're perfect. They're firm, very firm with small, light pink nipples that just love to be touched and lightly pinched surrounded by small, pink areolas which get puffy when I'm aroused. That's a lot of the time. Oh, and I have a little mole on my left breast, right near my nipple. If I knew you better, I'd let you kiss it.

I also started shaving my pubic area, I just think it looks nice that way and I have a pretty, plump little slit that makes me look like an angel, well, a rather naughty angel. That seems to suit me.

Along with the changes in my looks, my body is much more aware of sex. I think about it all the time and I have a very intimate relationship with my clit which I discovered when I was about eight or nine. And I prefer two fingers for masturbation which I do several times a day, if I can, and once at night in bed.

I also like to masturbate in front of my mirror which has seen a lot of my pussy in the last few years. Unfortunately, no one else has seen it.

This brings me to the part of why I hate being fourteen. It's the guys.

If I was college-aged, I could just go up to a guy I liked and ask him if he'd like to hook-up. But all the guys I go to school with are either self-centered little boys or try to be (and fail) big, grown-up studs. Both turn me off. So, I let my fingers make love to me.

There's really only one guy I've ever been interested in and (Oh, here it goes, get ready) he's my brother, Brandon. No, I didn't say I wanted to marry him, settle down and have a bunch of kids. I just think he's a good looking guy who is nice and trustworthy. And, yeah, I think he's pretty sexy, so there.

So, I hope you don't think I'm a really bad person or anything, I just want to finally have sex with someone I love and trust. Oh, I said 'finally, ' didn't I? Well, it seems that most of my friends have done it or are at least doing oral and stuff with their boyfriends (two-way oral, that is).

At school, I'm hearing about all the orgasms that they're giving and getting and all I do is stand and listen while my pussy gets wet. I'm tired of being on the sidelines, I want to get fucked. Sorry to be so blunt, but its that simple.

Now, Brandon is sixteen and is currently just dating around, no steady girlfriend. I do know that he's had sex with at least three girls, one for over a year and a half. She used to come over after school and I could hear them in his bedroom. Boy, did they have fun. She was a screamer and I guess neither one thought anything of it if little sister heard every orgasm.

So, I know Brandon is plenty experienced and I also know he has condoms, I've looked. He's also got a stash of girlie mags and a couple of porn DVDs. I've snuck those out and made copies (no, I'm not a 'techie' but I do know some things.) and I watch them sometimes.

So, on a Monday afternoon, I look in Brandon's door and say, "Hi."

"Hi, Tiff, what's up?" (I'm Tiffany, Tiff, for short.)

"Not much, have a question for you."

"Sure, ask away."

"Well, there's a guy I kinda like in a guy-girl way and, you being a guy, I was wondering how to get him interested, you know."

"Oh, sis, you're so pretty, that shouldn't be too hard. Does this have to happen at school or somewhere else?"

"Oh, somewhere else, probably."

"Well, wear a tee and just forget to wear a bra. Guy's love boobs and any guy who's worth you would get the picture immediately. Lucky guy."

"Really, you think so?"

"You're kidding, right? Tiff, you are a beautiful girl and you've really developed quite a body in the last few years. A 'guy-magnet, ' for sure."

"Hmm, okay, thanks."

"Anytime."

Well, there it is. He thinks I'm pretty, no, he said, 'beautiful.' And he said I'm a 'guy-magnet.' Let's see if Tiffany can get his compass pointer to point her way.

So, I pick out a cutoff tee, take off my top and bra and slip the cutoff on. Oh, the mirror doesn't lie, this looks hot, very hot. You can just see the bottom curve of my breasts and my nips are nice and hard and 'sticky-outie, ' just perfect. Watch out, Brandon.

Now its zero-hour, I walk down the hall, tap on Brandon's door and walk in and stand there in front of him.

"Geez, Tiff, if you're modeling what you'll wear for the guy, that'll sure do it. Wow, its got me hard as a rock."

"Well, that's the desired effect ... and on the guy I want."

It took a second, then Brandon asked, "Me? You meant me?"

"You got it, big brother, none other."

"Uh, are you sure about this? We're brother and sister, you know."

"Gosh, Brandon, I think I did know that. I'm not asking you to marry me, just make love to me. Okay."

"I ... I ... this is kinda sudden."

"Not to me, I've thought about it for months. Look, all the guys I know are dorks. You are the only really nice, caring and thoughtful guy I know. And, you're a very nice looking guy. Kinda sexy, y'know? So, yeah, I've thought about it, now why don't you think about it? Maybe this'll help," as I pull off the tee.

"Oh, Tiff, you are so pretty. Just perfect. Can I take your shorts off?"

"I thought you'd never ask," and I walk over to him as he sat up on the edge of the bed. He unbuttons the top button and tugs down my shorts leaving me in my skimpy thong panties, the one's I keep hidden at the back of my drawer.