This is Part I of a two-part story. I hope you like it. All characters are over 18 years of age.
**********************
I come from a nice family. My father is a psychiatrist and my mother does something complicated for a Silicon Valley firm. We live in a really nice suburb of San Francisco, in the hills, down the Peninsula. But the most important aspect of my life is that I have a twin brother.
My twin brother and I are quite different. My brother did not do particularly well at school early on, and he was held back a year, until he learned to read. So as not to emasculate him, my father the shrink decided I too should repeat first grade. As a consequence, we were both always one year older than our friends in our class.
My father tried to explain to me about psychological emasculation when I was six years old. He used dolls, and cut off the balls of a male doll. My takeaway was that if I were to be promoted to second grade along with everyone else, my brother would have to be mutilated. Not wanting that, the empathetic sweetheart that I was, as I played with my Barbie dolls, I proudly repeated first grade with my brother. And I made damn sure he learned to read.
After that, my brother and I were always exceptionally close. People called us the twins in two senses: metaphorical, and real. I took care of my brother, always watching out for him, until around puberty. At puberty, we reversed roles: he took care of me, always looking out for me, protecting me from any danger, real or perceived.
None of this was conscious. It simply grew out of affection, and as my brother grew and began to tower over me, he simply began to look out for me. I was now his "little sister," even though we were of course the exact same age.
I did well in school, but once my brother learned to read, he turned out to be brilliant. It seemed he was good at everything: all academic subjects, and sports, too. I was really proud of him, and he helped me with my math homework on a regular basis.
I'm now 18 years old. I'm very short: just around 5 feet with no inches, and I have huge boobs. I got my boobs before my friends, possibly due to the extra year of age I have. Anyway, boys noticed. It's hard not to notice because they are so big, and of course the girls noticed, too. I learned the power of civil engineering early on when my mother found brassieres for me that could hold up my boobs and spare my aching back.
I also had menstrual cramps from hell, so my father put me on birth control pills, and that did a lot to ease the cramps. The pills also had the side effect of removing my fear of sex. My parents sent the two of us to camp in the summer. I went to a music camp, and my brother went to a sports camp. My junior year in high school I met a boy at camp and fell in love. I now know such love is "puppy love," but nobody could have told me that then.
As for the boy, he did not fall in love with me. No, he fell in love with my boobs. We had to sneak around at camp to find enough privacy so that he could undress me and fondle my boobs. I liked it too, but what I really liked was having such a great boyfriend, and the way he kissed. My boyfriend Peter was smart as a whip, and funny. He made me laugh. I was happy in his presence. Peter thought he was older and wiser, because he was a grade ahead of me, but I quietly knew we were the same age.
When camp ended, we went to our respective homes. Peter and I were both 18 at this point, but Peter assumed I was only 16 or 17, since I was in the 11th grade. He lived in northern California, across the bay from San Francisco, but way east, where the fog could not reach. This meant it was a 90 minute drive, or a two-hour drive with traffic, from his family's house to mine. He would make the drive to come over, we would play a duet for my parents (I played the flute, he played the clarinet), and then he would take me to dinner, or to the movies, or to both. At the end of the date we would park somewhere and make out.
One time when we were making out, and he had me undressed completely (and I do mean completely: I was naked) we were surprised by a cop. In the fancy suburb where my family lived nobody parked on the street, so someone had noticed a parked car and assumed we were burglars. That same someone had called the cops.
The cop came to the car and shined a powerful flashlight on us and got a good look at my boobs as I scrambled to cover up. I grabbed the first thing I found which was Peter's shirt. We had to leave the car. We stood in the street as we showed the cop our IDs. The cop told Peter to put his shirt on, and without thinking I took off his shirt to give it to him, royally exposing myself in my full nudity to the cop.
Okay, okay. No woman becomes naked "without thinking." I knew exactly what I was doing. But I had deniability. I was just following the orders from an officer of the law. For some reason I did not understand at the time, I wanted to do that. What can I say? I was a teenager, and at that age one does what one wants to do, right? Reality, sanity, and maturity all take a back seat to desire.
The cop smiled, and he said, "You cover up too, little lady." Something triggered in me. I was enjoying the reactions I was getting: horror from Peter, and bemusement from the cop. In addition, I could see movement of a curtain from the house that probably called the cops. Some unknown asshole was seeing me standing there naked. I loved it.
So, I took my sweet time. First I bent into the car, showing off my ass and pussy to the copy, in order to find my panties. I turned to face the cop, giving him a full frontal, smiled, and slowly, oh so slowly, pulled up my panties, giving him time to survey my body, assuming he wanted to do so. This was a warranted assumption. He took a good look. Both the cop and Peter knew I had taken much longer than I had needed to. The cop was smiling. Peter was not.
The obvious next thing to do would have been to put on my bra. But I was convinced at the time that my boobs were my biggest asset, so instead I rooted around for my skirt inside the car. I again bent over, this time to show off my panty clad ass. I found my skirt easily, of course. Grabbing my skirt, I stood straight up, again facing the cop. This gave the cop another great opportunity to check out my well-endowed mammary glands.
The cop obliged, you might say. I put on my skirt, turned to present my back to Peter, and asked him to zip up my skirt. It was obvious to both men that I could easily have zipped it up myself. But asking Peter delayed things, allowing another precious minute to expose myself. This was not just for the cop, but was also for the benefit of the mystery voyeur in the house overlooking our car. My boobs bounced around and my nipples were hard as rocks due to the chilly night air.
Next I slowly looked for my bra. I found it quickly enough, of course. I turned around and asked Peter to hook it, with my back to Peter and my front to the cop. I smiled at the cop as he enjoyed the view of my boobs. Once the bra was on, it was only then that I slipped on my top. This kept my boobs exposed to Peter and the cop as long as possible.
The cop told us that we could not park in this neighborhood: A parked car looked too suspicious. The streets in this fancy neighborhood were narrow, and no other cars were parked on the street. He suggested that Peter take me home.
I was so turned on after that I was ready to have sex for the first time. But Peter did not know that, and I did not tell him. Plus, Peter still thought I was underage. He wanted to become a U.S. Senator or something like that, so he was not about to risk his future by having sex with a 16 or a 17-year-old. I did not know his thinking just then, or I would have told him that I was 18. Anyway, it was already close to midnight, and Peter still had the long drive to his home.
My senior year, my twin brother Adam did extra work to finish high school early. He was 19, so without telling my parents, or even me, he quietly enlisted in the army. Our parent's reaction was severe. It contained, among other things, all of shock, dismay, and horror. But there was nothing they could do. My father pulled some strings and Adam was shipped off to Japan, rather than to the war zones of the middle east.