When James's sister wanted to go to the beach with us, he asked if I could get there myself, instead of being picked up. His van only has two seats, he shares ownership of the car with his sister and I had my own transport, and indeed, could and often did walk the distance.
It was no big deal, except wondering whether the sister might spoil some of my carnal intentions.
I found myself in a funny place. Before Karen started fucking my brother Greg, sex was no big deal. Yes I had fantasies and desires, but they were, to me, just part of growing up. If I yearned for a suitable boyfriend and the physical relationship that went with it, it was nothing more than that. A bit of a yearning. Nothing that I felt impatient about.
Karen's presence stirred up feelings I hadn't experienced before and led me to, well, for want of a better way of putting it, use the most convenient male friend I had to lose my virginity. That's not something I regret. It was a memorable experience.
But it far from sated me. The friend was used for more sex, but I knew it couldn't go on forever like that; especially at the rate I wanted sex.
When James entered my life a mere three days ago, he stirred up my feelings to boiling point. Here was a male who, both intellectually and physically, set my hormones alight.
Love? Can I really be in love with someone I only met such a short time ago. Doesn't it take longer than that?
But love or not, we shared great sex yesterday. Shouldn't that be enough to calm my desires for a bit? Isn't that how it should work; I want sex, I have sex, for a little while at least I don't obsess about it?
Why is that not enough? Why do I want more today?
Isn't any sensible woman meant to be holding off the oversexed desires of their male partner? What is wrong with me?
I'm starting to understand the drives that cause Karen and Greg's relationship to be the sex feast it is. But I still feel guilty about it; even if not guilty enough to moderate my intentions.
James seemed to take quite a liking to my ultra-Brazilian bikini yesterday, so I washed it overnight with the intention or wearing it today. It would be the first time I was wearing it in full public view, but gained a lot of confidence about it yesterday.
Over it I wore one of my micro mini (like something you really need to wear bikini pants under), sheath, string shouldered, sun dresses; and I decided I'd walk down to the beach.
James and his sister Liz were already there when I arrived. Sitting on the sand, as I approached them, Liz moved to the side, opening up a gap between her and James, inviting me to take that place. At least I wasn't alone in wearing an ultra-Brazilian bikini. Liz's was as brief as mine, something exaggerated by her bigger -- and therefore more exposed - breasts. I could easily see why all my teenage male friends were buzzing around her at the sailing club on Sunday.
It didn't take long for me to get the impression I was being evaluated by Liz as to my suitability for his brother.
Fortunately, she quickly seemed to relax and I found myself in as easy a conversation with her as I found I can have with James. We were soon lying on our back sunning ourselves while James sat cross legged facing us, alongside my stomach; mainly listening but not reluctant to chip in when it was appropriate.
It was quickly obvious he was having difficulty not just staring at my body; and I could see, especially at my mons. The cut and tautness of the bikini bottom did highlight somewhat the modestly sized, but never the less quite unmistakable, mons bulge I had and it seemed James was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. It wasn't long before he placed a hand on my stomach, gently rubbing across it.
As we kept chatting the hand drifted down to the plunging waistband of the bikini and he ran his hand slowly back and forwards across it for a while; almost nonchalantly or even absent mindedly as we kept talking.
But as much as he was engaged in the conversation, his eyes had trouble not constantly drifting down to my mons. And when they weren't there, they were usually on my breasts.
I can't say I didn't find his actions arousing. Not throw him on the ground and fuck him in front of his sister arousing. But my labia were swollen and separated and my vagina was receptive and pumping out juices which I knew would be dampening the gusset of my bikini pants in what would be a very obvious way if I spread my legs and you were looking from a certain direction. With my head raised by the bag I was using as a pillow, I was well aware that had opened up a bit of a camel toe in my pants too; that would be fairly obvious to James from where he was looking. But I could set that aside.
More obviously, my arousal had raised my nipples too, which were on high beam in the equally taut material of the triangles of my bikini top.
It was nice, like a very erotic, gentle massage, and I was enjoying it immensely.
In response to his placement of a hand on my stomach, I'd put mine on his mid-thigh. It too had drifted upwards towards his crotch, but I was hardly going to start wanking his cock, on the beach and in front of his sister.
As he got a bit bolder, he rested his hand on my mons, using his thumb to gently stroke the area from where my mons turned into my crotch and his hand. That part of the pants wasn't lined, the lining only covering a small length in the gusset proper. I could sense him enjoying gliding his thumb across the silky smooth, tautly drawn material; including across the front of my crease where it turned up the front of my mons.
Occasionally too, he rimmed along the side elastic of the pants, which, not being wide enough to fully cover my mons, meant he was stroking the mons itself.
I could see Liz taking some interest in all this, even as James eyes continued to mainly fixate on those parts of my body covered by my bikini.
I didn't hold that against him. He was only a bit player in the conversation. If he had to look anywhere, I was happy for him to look at me. And given my feelings towards him, looking at me sexually was OK by me too.
I thought how I'd feel if we reversed positions; he lying down talking to someone, me sitting over him biding my time. I'd enjoy caressing him in the semi-sexual way he was caressing me. I'd be staring down too; at his erection. I lamented he was dressed in boardies and not in speedos/swim briefs/budgie smugglers; call them what you will. I could picture myself sliding my finger up and down the length of his shaft, sheathed tautly in highly stretched spandex, absolutely fascinated by being able to make it surge to my touch.
For all I know he doesn't have any speedos. They have fallen from fashion a bit for younger guys in Australia. Because Greg, and my father, are involved in a lot of swimming and surf lifesaving Iron Man competitions, they are no stranger to me. They are almost like our household standard of male dress in summer, as much as bikini have been that of me and mum. I've never found -- like some girls do -- the dick bulge to be anything to be shy about. The aroused dick bulge on the other hand is a new thing brought on by Karen's arrival. That's not to say Greg deliberately walks around in an aroused state. But our house is a dynamic house; I've walked in quite a few times to a situation where Karen has had Greg at full arousal. A few of dad's too, given the effect the sexualisation of the house is having on him.
It seemed on the spur of the moment, Liz suddenly popped up to the sitting position, and turned to me...
"Do you fancy an ice cream? Let's go and get one..."
Turning to James, she added...
"Will you look after our gear? We'll bring you one back."
As we started walking up towards the shop, she turned to me with a sincere face...
