A Special Bond
by
Tragudis
We lived in a suburban split-level that my parents, Martin and Janine Zlatin, bought around the time JFK was assassinated. My kid brother Danny and I (Jennifer Zlatin) were in our teens. There was nothing remarkable or out of the ordinary about our house, the neighborhood or my family. Mom worked in a beauty salon and dad was a collector for a local appliance business. We were what you'd call middle-class, but barely, because my parents were always talking about "stretching the dollar" to make ends meet. Danny and I attended public schools, unlike one of our rich relatives who lived in an upscale development and whose kids attended private school.
My teen years were a difficult time. Image-wise, I mean. I was interested in boys, but none of them seemed interested in me. I wasn't what you'd call a "looker" back then. I was kind of homely, if you want to know the truth. My features were too big for my narrow face. Kids made fun of me. They called me names like "clown" and made crude jokes: "If I had a dog with a face like yours, I'd shave his ass and walk him backwards." That experience gave me a complex that I never fully got over, even after my face "caught up" to my features, after I "prettied up," as one friend said when I reached my late teens.
Danny and I had always been close. At times, I got so down on myself that I cried, mostly in the solitude of my room. But one time, Danny heard me and came in. "Jennifer, what's wrong?" he asked.
Not wishing to burden him with my problems, I said I'd flunked a test in school. Knowing me the way he did, he didn't buy it. "You, a dean's list student? Come on, tell me what's really going on."
Finally, I broke down and told him that I made the mistake of telling a girl that I had a crush on Paul Burnett. Paul was a neighborhood heartthrob. Lots of girls liked him, including Sherri Hopkins, another neighbor, who said, "Jen, no offense, but Paul would never have the slightest interest in you. You're nowhere near pretty enough."
Danny put his arms around me, comforting me. "Don't pay any attention to people like that," he said. "They're either jealous or they feel so bad about themselves that they find the need to belittle other people. Besides, you're plenty pretty and way smarter than those people who put you down."
Still, I felt far from pretty. How could I after all those years of verbal bullying? Nevertheless, I felt so grateful to Danny for taking the time to comfort me.
We traded notes on our social life. We'd tell each other things we kept hidden from others, even close friends. By my sophomore year in college, I was gaining more confidence. My complexes lingered like unwanted company, yet I managed to land a boyfriend, and a handsome boyfriend at that. Tom Shields was his name. I can't say my girlfriends were jealous, but they sure made a fuss over his rugged good looks, boosting my ego that always seemed to need a boost. Tom and I were the same age, though we went to different colleges. He found it hard to believe that I was once known as an ugly duckling. At times, I still felt that way, even though he and even other girls complimented me on my "mile-long legs," "peaches and cream complexion" and "pretty little angel eyes," the latter in reference to an old doo-op song. As noted, my complexes never totally vanished. When I complained about my wide hips, wide butt, too high a waist and small tits, Tom would say, "Look, nobody's perfect. To me, you're adorable. Not to mention that you're funny and bright."
He took me to his college's home coming dance. We never talked about making a life together, though it did cross my mind. That is, until we drifted apart by the end of our sophomore year.
Meanwhile, I continued to live at home while attending college and working part time to help pay for school. I met and dated a few guys after the break with Tom. Nothing serious, though. Danny and I were still sharing our experiences. We'd go on walks and talk for hours in my room, holding our voices down when our parents were home.
Danny finally got a girlfriend when he turned eighteen. Louanne was her name. She was cute and petite, about five-foot-two, I'd say, half a foot shorter than Danny, who was skinny at the time, with a mop of brown curly hair. He still had not gone all the way with a girl. Louanne, nineteen, was also a virgin. "You're way more experienced than me," he said to me during one of our walks. "Maybe you can give me pointers on what to do and how to do it. We've only gone to second base."
Having limited experience myself, I wasn't sure what to tell him. Up until then, Tom had been the only guy I'd slept with. It wasn't too often. I lived at home, and he lived in a college dorm. Then we broke up, as I've said. "Just take things one step at a time," I advised Danny. "That's what Tom and I did."
Danny knew about Tom and me. In fact, I had made him privy to that first time we had sex, six months before we split. Nobody was home. We were nineteen, and it was during winter break of our sophomore year. We were watching TV on my parents' sofa. Then we began making out. We had already been to third base, so it wasn't a giant leap to bring it home. I even remember what we were wearing. He wore jeans, and I wore this dress he liked on me. It was called the Sizzler, a popular dress at the time. "You look sexy as all get-out in that," he'd say. Our make-out led to our hands and fingers touching our privates and finally to me slipping off my panties and then hopping on his lap. He knew I had been on the pill for weeks in anticipation. I was ready and uninhibited, and I climaxed right there on the sofa, right on his lap.
If there was a beginning to what my brother and I got into, it was on one of those walks. It wasn't like, hey bro, I'll give you some private lessons. No, nothing like that. I mean, the idea of seducing my brother never occurred to me. There was no plan, no method to what some would call our madness. Rather, it was spontaneous, almost impulsive.
It was on a Sunday afternoon when both our parents were out looking at houses for a possible move to another area. Danny and I had been hitting the books for upcoming finals, when we decided to take a break for some music listening. Danny had a miniature stereo in his room, so we went in there and put on The Best of Blondie album. We were dressed casually in shorts and short sleeves and barefoot. (no Sizzler for me that day although Danny also had told me how sexy I looked wearing it). We sat on his bed, making small talk that segued into Danny telling me how things were going with Louanne. "We finally went to third base," he said.
"Good for you," I said. "Just make sure you're protected when you slide into home." He then opened his sock drawer to show me a box of condoms. "That's my bro, always prepared," I said, giving him a thumbs up. Then I asked, "So how did that come about? I want details, little brother."
Danny didn't blanch. After all, we'd been sharing intimate details of our love life for a while. "It's nothing you haven't heard before," he said. "It was a matter of first gaining her trust and then getting her hot enough and loose enough to where she'd let me feel her below her waist."
"Did she go below YOUR waist?"
"No, but I'm working on it." He laughed.
For many boys (and girls), third base was routine by the time they reached eighteen. But for Danny, this was virgin territory (literally and figuratively), heady stuff for my inexperienced brother. It happened in her college dorm, when Louanne's roommate was out. He told me how he got her so hot, how he "sucked on her boobs" and then worked his hand inside the waistband of her panties. I couldn't help but chuckle when he asked, "Do all girls get that wet down there?"
"If they're turned on enough, they do," I revealed.
Meanwhile, I was getting aroused myself, not only listening to him describe it but also thinking back to the times I had with Tom. The longer Danny went on, the more aroused I became to the point where I couldn't sit still. I kept changing positions on the bed, folding my legs under me, then stretching out, then crossing and recrossing my legs, while taking deep breaths. Finally, I said, "Danny boy, if you don't stop now, I'll need to change my panties."
