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Chapter 1
Who am I? Most of you know me, or my doppelganger. I'm 29, close to 5'11"; jogging keeps me lean, and many women would say I'm a little better than average looking. I have brown hair, brown eyes, and weigh about 170. There are a million of me, you see me every time you commute to work, or go shopping; a decent looking fella, who looks like a lot of other decent looking fellas.
My life is good in the girlfriend department. About half of every month a sweet airline stewardess named Roberta calls my house home. The other half she's normally somewhere in Europe. My place in the woods helps her decompress I'm told.
I have a great job, even if it's no job to me. I rent out a dozen fishing cabins that I built myself over the past few years.
When I started out, I had little money, but I was able to buy a long unused camp grounds for a song. Only two of the buildings were worth salvaging, even they needed major work. Today, I'd never be able to afford the place, but ten years ago, Interstate 287 looked like it would never be built due to environmental litigation. Thank God I bought this place before a 287 re-route was finally approved. The revised right-of-way made my country and the lake far more accessible to tourists than it would have been.
Ten years ago, a depression in our area meant none of the few locals with any money left wanted to invest it close to home. So I was able to get the defunct camp, 20-acres with plenty of lakefront, for a song.
Ever since I was a kid, I'd made money helping the plethora of retirees populating our county because of its low property taxes. Between my savings, and a loan from Dad, I was able to swing the land.
I always loved fishing. As a kid I'd spend every minute possible fishing from every place I could get to around Ten Islands Lake. As soon as I was old enough to safely operate a motor boat, I was fishing from one end of the lake to the other. Over time, with a little help from the old timers I'd pester for information, I grew to be as good a guide to Ten Islands Lake as there ever was. So as soon as I got my first two cabins going, my reputation a fishing guide kept my fledgling resort full. Soon I was making as much money as a guide as I did from the cabins. The money coming in was enough to build another cabin or two each year.
Folks say I was a quiet kid, I suspect I was about as average as a kid could be. If I had any talent, it was that once people got to know me, they generally liked me. That was especially important when I was building my little business. Friends in the local timber business would set aside good second's that were fine for building my cabins. Other folks would steer fishing friends to me. Even as a kid, once I'd mow someone's lawn, they'd always find a way for me to earn a little money thereafter. Extra Bass, Blue Gills and Walleyed Pike were bartered for having my long, rutted, dirt access road gradually evolve into respectable tar and gravel roadway.
The story I'm here to spin is about my older sister and me.
Being only one year apart, as small kids we did a few things together. There was a time when we could both enjoy Chutes and Ladders, and other simple kid's games Even Monopoly or Scrabble during heavy snowstorms when we were older. We always got along as well as most brothers and sisters, although we did have several years where a real Love-Hate relationship would best describe our interactions.
Certainly I don't recall my pre-pubescent days very well. You know, way back when we were so young that our only understanding of the difference between boys and girls was that boys liked to fish and girls liked dolls. Recollections of peeking a few times are still with me, but don't ask which of us first figured out that our bodies were different, or who got curious enough to initiate the innocent explorations.
When Liz hit eleven, her and my daily lives noticeably diverged. Guess it was about then our Love-Hate years began. The love parts were typical. For example, I'd defend her if a boy tried to pick on her. We were both fairly thoughtful about Christmas or birthday gifts. Like I said, typical.
Naturally I could be a real pain-in-the-ass, but that wasn't my exclusive province as Liz sought to establish her own identity, so the hate parts should be easily understood by anyone who grew up with a sibling.
As I grew into my mid-teens, I was customarily awkward around girls. Apparently a few liked me enough to be a spend a little time with me at a community picnic or school event, but I didn't have a true date until I was past 16.
When I was 13, maybe 12, I began to periodically pester Liz to show me her boobies. Starting as young as I did, she never reacted with uncommon anger. Sometimes she was annoyed, sometimes amused. Asking as frequently as I did over time, she surely felt every possible emotion at one time of another.
Continuing to ask her often as we grew up, my naughty requests became something of a tradition. It may be annoying when it rains sometimes, but a rainy day is hardly surprising.
The first major shock I got came when I was just 18. Following my usual request for a bare boobie show, Liz stood silently. An instant rejection had, heretofore, been the only reaction I'd ever gotten. Sure, the verbal response would vary from caustic to scathing, but it was always a ready response. Not that day. No, that time a minute passed while she silently looked back at me.
"Since you think you want to see my chest so much, let's see just how much you really do. I want five dollars. You give me five dollars, and I'll let you see me for two minutes."
Stunned doesn't come close to how I felt.
This took place at a time when America, especially rural America, was far more naive. Seeing a women wearing a bra in Sears catalog was a big deal! I'd never seen a live bare breast, and damned few photos. A flash of flesh as a girl at school bent to pick up a dropped pencil was about the best I'd ever managed. So the possibility that I could actually see not one, but two totally bare breasts was enough to have me masturbating around the clock for days on end.
Hot Damn, I had a chance to not only see boobies, but Liz's boobies! While I found many girls to be attractive, Liz's body had always held a special fascination for me.
How much is five dollars? Back then a bottle of soda or an ice cream bar cost a dime. So five dollars was a small fortune. Talk about put up or shut up, Liz nailed me pretty good. I had to mow a lot of lawns or clean a mile of gutters to earn that kind of money. But I was trapped, I was fully ensnared by my own web of desire.
Three weeks and a few days was how long it took me to save up five bucks. All my dimes, nickels, and quarters I converted into a brand new $5 bill. Now that I was actually ready for the biggest purchase of my young life, I struggled with how to ask.
Last month, the only TV station we could pick up had shown Casablanca, our family had watched it together. It wasn't my all time favorite film; it did have Nazi's, but there was too much romance. However, the line "Here's looking at you, kid." had with stuck me.
When I was out busting my butt so I could see Liz's young breasts, "Here's looking at you, kid." Would frequently run through my head. BINGO, it hit me; taking my crisp fiver, I drew a pair of glasses on Abe Lincoln. Proud as a peacock, I strutted to Liz's bedroom door, then knocked. Coming to the door, Liz peeked out as she gradually opened it.
