Chapter 8

I knew something was up when, after her homework was done, Addie took one of the extra kitchen chairs and said, “I’m taking this to my room. I have to do some new stretching exercises, and I need to use the chair to put my leg up on, okay?”

“Fine,” said Dad, who was cutting up a roast he’d put in the crock pot that morning.

She picked it up and took it to her room. Maybe ten minutes later she came out and started setting the table, working around me, since I wasn’t finished yet.

“What’s going on?” I whispered.

“You’ll see,” she said. “Hurry up.”

How do you “hurry up” homework? The only way I know is to pretend you’re finished, but that comes back to bite you. The person who figures out how to hurry up homework and still absorb the information will be a zillionaire in about a minute, even if all he charges for it is a week’s lunch money.

As it turned out, Mr. Sayer’s assignment to “Read two more chapters, and be ready to discuss the ramifications of mobility issues during the American Civil War,” actually only translated into twenty pages in our history text book, and when she whispered in my ear I had already read sixteen of them. So, in the end, I did get finished quickly.

We had supper, and Dad mentioned how we hadn’t watched any Dr. Who for a while, at which point Addie said we should watch a couple of episodes. Dad said only one, and they argued about that for a while. And while they did that, I just sort of stared at my sister, because suddenly, she was two girls.

Imagine if Superboy was real, and everybody saw him fly around, and then, one day, you saw him fly into the back of the house next door, and you found out that Charlie, next door, was actually Superboy. You’ve known him all your life, and joked around with him, and argued with him and called him crazy and climbed trees with him and all that kind of thing. And then, suddenly you find out he has this whole other identity.

That’s how I felt as I watched Addison argue with my father about how many episodes of Dr. Who we were going to watch on Netflix. She was still just Addison, my sister, the girl I’d known all my life. But she was also this beautiful, sexy, passionate girl who could make my penis get rock hard just by whispering in my ear, or reaching from her side of the car to touch my leg. In fact, as I thought about all this ... I got a boner.

They settled on one episode, which will come as no surprise to any parents out there, and they got up to start getting the dishes in the dishwasher. I was expected to help them, of course, but I had this minor problem shoving the front of my pants into a tent. So while their backs were turned, I jumped up and hurried out, calling out that I was going to get the Neo box booted up and the next episode ready to stream.

Addison, of course, complained that she was being left to do all the drudgery.

My erection was under control by the time they came in.

That lasted only as long as it took Addie to sit in the middle of the couch and pat the leather on both sides of her.

“I want to sit between my two favorite men,” she said, tossing her golden locks. “Who knows what terrors will be exposed tonight, and I may need to cling to the arm of a big, strong man.”

Dad stood there, looking at her. “Addison? Do we allow you to date?”

She laughed. “Of course you do, Daddy. You know that. When I turned sixteen you and Mom said I could go on two dates a month.”

“One date every six months,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

Of course she all but exploded. “What? Why? That’s not fair!”

“Because the little display you just provided convinces me that no mere human male could possibly resist your charms. And as much as it pains me to admit it, I am aware that girls your age have discovered that passion resides within them. As your father, it is my duty to insist this passion be contained, and to prevent it from being encouraged by some lust-maddened boy on a date. Thus, I must insist that dates be kept to the absolute minimum, lest I discover some hanky panky has taken place and be forced to hunt down and maim the misbegotten youth who engaged in it with you.”

Dad was like that. He could launch into a little diatribe like that in the blink of an eye. It was like he practiced them or something, and was just waiting for a chance to drop one on us.

But Addie was used to it. She didn’t blink an eye.

“Be careful what you wish for, father. If I bottle all that passion up inside me, I may explode some day, and destroy the whole city.”

“There’s that much passion in there?” he asked, scratching his head and looking at her askance.

She patted the seat beside her again. “Sit down. All the blood must be pooling in your poor, old, wrinkled up feet, because your brain is being starved of oxygen if you think I’m only going on one date every six months.”

He turned and plopped down hard enough to make her body jump a bit.

“I know,” he sighed. “I just can’t get used to the idea that you’re not my little girl in pigtails any more. You’re a model, for pity’s sake. How’s that going, by the way? You used to tell me all about it, but the last couple of times you guys have come home and haven’t said a word.”

“Oh, you know,” she said, dropping a hand on his thigh. “After a while it’s not so exciting anymore.”

“Welcome to the work world,” said Dad.

Addie looked up at me and patted the empty seat beside her. I knew that as soon as I sat down, she was going to put her other hand on my thigh.

The only reason I didn’t sit down with a boner already, was because I kept wondering if she was causing one in our father too.

Dr. Who was over. The Dalegs, or however you spell that, had appeared yet again, to conquer the universe, even though they’d been banished twice before. Between the Dalegs and the Cyber Men, the producers of that show got a lot of mileage out of their props. But then again, that was part of the charm of the show. They looked like the kind of props that would be in a B or C class movie. You know ... the kind that come on at one in the morning. I mean one of the weapons the Dalegs had was really just a toilet plunger. Or at least that’s what it looked like. But the writing was incredible, and the acting was world class. And that was what made it fun to watch. At least fun to watch when your sister wasn’t sitting beside you encouraging your pent up passion to be released.

Addie left her hand on my thigh for most of the show. She stroked her thumb over the fabric of my pants just once, but that was all it took for me to be constantly aware that her hand was there, and that she was obviously in the mood to release some passion of her own later.

As Dad punched the off button, we stood up.

“It’s bed for me,” he said.

“Me too,” said Addison.

“I guess I’m not going to wander around out here alone,” I said.

We walked to the hallway together, and then split, Addie and I going one way, and Dad the other. Addie leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“Come to my room in twenty minutes.”

Have you ever tried to concentrate on reading a library book while you had a raging boner, and were resisting stroking the thing?

It’s an exercise in futility. Let me tell you that.

I still had the erection when I slipped on my robe and opened my door to peer down the hallway. It was dark. I walked across the hall and almost knocked. It was ingrained. But I didn’t want to make any noise, so I just turned the knob and went in.

She was lying on her bed, stark naked, masturbating. Of course. I couldn’t do that ... but she could. Girls have such an advantage!

When I arrived, she happened to have two fingers deep inside her, and was sliding them in and out slowly. It shocked me, because while I had seen her slip one finger in there, I’d never seen anything really go deep inside her. I had imagined pushing my rampant prick in there, but that was just fantasy. Actually seeing two fingers deep in her made it clear that ... well ... my prick would fit in that small, dark, tight hole. I liken it to the difference in seeing a rocket sitting on the launch pad, knowing it can blossom fire and shoot upwards into space, and actually seeing it blossom fire and shoot up into space.

It causes something to kind of move around in your chest.

The tip of her tongue was protruding from her lips, like she was concentrating on trying to remember something.

“About time,” she panted. “I was thinking of finishing without you.”

“Let’s not be rash,” I said. I opened my robe to show her my bone.

She pulled her fingers out of her pussy and sat up, swinging her legs off the side of the bed.

“Sit there,” she said, pointing one lacquered (fake) fingernail at the kitchen chair I hadn’t even noticed sitting a few feet away from her bed.

“I could help you with what you were doing,” I suggested, wagging my tongue at her.

“Another time,” she said, standing up. “Sit! I’m very horny right now.”

I didn’t understand how me sitting in the chair was going to help her with her problem, but I moved to the chair and started to sit down.

“Without the robe,” she sighed, as if I were some kind of feeble-minded idiot.

I shrugged it off and, imagining how cold that wood might feel against my naked butt and back, draped it over the chair. I sat.

She walked over and straddled my legs, sitting gently on my thighs.

At first, she just sat there, running her hands over my chest and shoulders.

“You have such a beautiful chest,” she said, softly.

“Yours isn’t so bad either,” I said, staring at her breasts. Her nipples were thick and hard.

She offered me one, arching her back, and I sucked at it happily. She shuddered, and scooted up, reaching for my cock.

I got it then. In this position, it was easy for her to diddle herself with the tip of my penis, masturbating like she had when we lay in bed.

“I love this,” she moaned.

I did too, but my mouth was full of nipple, so I didn’t say anything. I did swirl my tongue around the nipple and then give it a little extra hard suck, though.

She pulled back and made me switch nipples. My hands went to her hips. To this day, I still don’t know why I put them there, but I did, and that proved to be kind of important. That’s because after letting me love both her nipples for a while, during which she rubbed the shit out of her clit with the tip of my cock, she started kissing me and had an orgasm.

And right in the middle of that orgasm, something inside me demanded more and I pulled with my hands ... hard enough, and at just the right time, to pull her towards me just enough that the head of my penis just sort of popped inside her.

Understand that this wasn’t an intentional kind of decision. It was more like instinct. So I wasn’t expecting it any more than she was. Or wasn’t. You know what I mean. The point is that, once it happened, I didn’t know what would happen next. The obvious expectation would have been for her to get upset. Thinking back on it, that’s the kind of thing I would have thought she was conditioned to do. But this begs the question, in terms of assuming we were thinking normally. Which, of course, we were not.

She did not object vociferously. She did stop kissing me, and leaned back. She did look down, at where her hand was still wrapped firmly around my penis. I did too. It looked funny, because it looked like she was using her hand to prevent me from getting any further inside her. We both knew that an inch or two of my manhood had been protruding from her hand, which she had been using to rub all over her sex. And we both knew that inch or two was now inside her.

“It’s inside me,” she panted.

“Yeah,” I said. What else was I supposed to say? That I was sorry? The problem there was that I wasn’t. I knew I should be ... but I wasn’t. Should I have offered to push her off of it? I knew I should do that ... but I had no interest whatsoever in doing so. So I just agreed with her.

And then she calmly removed her hand from my cock, put both hands on my shoulders ... and hunched forward to gobble up the rest of my throbbing prick.

I read somewhere that it is completely normal for the teenaged male to suffer premature ejaculation, and that it happens to over ninety percent of them.

Turns out I’m completely normal.

Of course “normal” as defined by human beings (primarily women, since they are the ones who actually suffer from premature ejaculation) is quite different than “normal” as defined by Mother Nature. Her intent is simply to get the sperm into the vaginal channel, so it can swim happily upstream to find an egg.

Thankfully, the teenage male has capabilities that (sometimes) overcome the female’s objection to the usual result of premature ejaculation. And whatever good old Mom Nature gave us, I stayed happily stiff as my balls did their thing and pumped however many ounces is normal of my semen into my sister’s scorching hot depths.

I don’t know if she felt it, or was just excited to be doing what we were suddenly doing, but she started writhing against me, and humping her hips and crushed my body to hers, while she again kissed me.

Dad was right. There is a ton of passion locked up in a girl her age, and it all came flooding out. I say flooding, because suddenly there were all these wet, squelching, liquid sounds coming from where we were joined.

And it felt good. I won’t deny that. But something happened to me that took it way beyond just “feeling good.” I wanted more movement, or more feeling or whatever it was that just wasn’t there. Since then I’ve learned that when you spunk in a pussy and keep fucking it, things are too slippery and you have to keep going until you either pack all that spunk into her womb or froth it out around her pussy lips so that there is more feeling. But at that point in time I was just a male who wanted more than was going on in that position.

Which is why I stood up, crushing her body to mine, and walked over to flop down on top of her on her bed. We landed on her bottom, in a leaning back kind of position, with our legs off the bed. My toes found purchase on the floor and, suddenly, I found what I wanted - the ability to pound her with long strokes of my cock.

It wasn’t the most comfortable position for me, because I was holding up all my weight on my toes and stiff arms, sort of in a leaning pushup position. But I could hump the crap out of her, which is what I wanted to do just then, so I ignored the pain that built up in my arms.

I was lucky, because that position was completely comfortable for her. Her upper torso was lying flat on the bed. Her butt was perched on the edge of the mattress, and her heels supported her legs on the floor. If anything, it made her mons jut out, so that every time I slammed against her I crushed her clit. Plus, to be perfectly honest, I think she just got off at being manhandled. It would turn out she liked rough sex, not every time, but sometimes. And because of that, she had another orgasm right on top of the one she was recovering from. And learning she could have multiple orgasms, that close together, was something that would be very important later on. After all, if a girl can’t have an orgasm, how interested in sex is she likely to be?