I'm an old woman now, bent and arthritic; indistinguishable from the hundreds of old ladies you might see any day of the week, and certainly miles away in space and time from the beautiful young thing I once was. And I can refer to myself as having been beautiful without embarrassment or boastfulness knowing, as I do now, that beauty is the most ephemeral, fleeting and ultimately insignificant quality a man or woman can possess. It's valued more and means less than any other attribute a person can have. But having said that I can tell you that back in my heyday, When it seemed so important, I was something.
My husband died 2 years ago this April. And now the doctors say I, myself, only have a few months maybe a year to live. And I'm telling you this not to gain your sympathy but to explain my motives for writing this - what is it? Confession? So be it. I know I should be ashamed but I honestly don't the time. My children are gone, moved away, and care not a whit about me. But they will find this, none the less, embarrassing should they read it. Which thrills me somewhat, to shake up their smug little conservative lives, but hopefully I won't be around to endure their recriminations and sanctimonious "mother, how could you"s.
My Story:
My brother Richard and I were always close; chronologically as well as emotionally. Even as children we never got into all the bratty things siblings do to drive each other crazy. As children my mother bathed us together, we walked to school together, we played together, and we told each other our deepest darkest secrets. And when we reached puberty, well, we did that together too. Richard is less than a year younger than I am (but he's still my little brother) so at the same time my breasts were budding and my hips and bottom becoming full, and curvy, Richard's voice was changing, his beard was coming in and he added 3 inches in height, and a few inches in other places too, I imagined.
At 19, my girlfriends and I, as these changes were coming on to us, would sit for hours talking about boys; who was dreamy, or a heartthrob, (this was a long time ago, you understand) who's hair we'd most like to run our fingers through, or who's eyes we'd most like to gaze deeply into, or whose lips we'd most like to have on ours. Who had the broadest shoulders, or sexiest arms. I loved to talk about those things too but my mind, for some reason, always seemed to stray below the waist. (At the beach, in those days, the fashion for many of the younger men was tight bathing suits. Not the skimpy Speedos you might see today, these covered from just below the navel to just below the crotch. But they were form fitting and could reveal quite a lot about the man who wore them. I enjoyed seeing a man with narrow hips and a nice rounded bottom. And I loved seeing a good size bulge in the front. I would imagine what that bulge looked like when it gets "real big and stiff" and I'd always get a tingle between my legs.)
My friends all agreed that my brother, now a foot taller than his older sister, was "dreamy" and a "heartthrob" and pestered me for information; what was his favorite color, what did he like to eat, did he sleep on his side stomach or back, had I seen him naked? I liked the attention this gave me, making me feel that I was the keeper of important info but I always had to excuse myself from these discussion because inside I just as smitten.
I liked watching the boys at the beach, loving the way some of them looked and moved but I always felt that my little brother was the handsomest; a chiseled face with with black hair and blue eyes common to our 'black Irish' ancestry, broad shoulders, narrow hips, muscular chest and legs, even his feet looked pretty to me. His backside was cute and his bulge was substantial it seemed when I compared it to other boys. Yes, I had a crush on him.
He would sometimes appear in my dreams, taking me in his arms and kissing me, and I'd wake up all juicy between my legs. But many time my dreams, both conscious and unconscious, involved a more what you would call kinky activity; I wanted to spank him, pull down his bathing suit and paddle that bottom with my bare hand. I'd fantasize taking him over my knee and slapping his backside till it turned red.
I Often found myself dreaming of spanking and being spanked. I was even excited by the words 'spank' spanking' 'bare bottom' 'over my knee' etc which would thrill me just by hearing them spoken or seeing them in print and I would sometimes look them up in the dictionary to give myself a little charge.
I'd even occasionally spank myself to feel the pain and sometimes I'd arrange a mirror so I could see my bottom while I spanked it and imagine it was Richard's I was spanking or that he was spanking me.
In 1959 in the summer of my 19th year, when Richard was about to become, because of where his birthday fell, an 18 year old high school senior, my family rented a 3 bedroom house for 2 weeks in Ocean City.
Richard and I both loved the beach. We would spend hours playing in the surf, burying each other in the sand, tossing a beach ball and having a great time.
One day, tired and needing to get ready to go meet some friends, I left Richard at the beach and went to the house to take a shower. I hosed the sand off my feet and legs with the cold outside rinse shower and then walked up the stairs and into the house. I stripped off my suit in the bathroom and assessed my looks in the mirror; A pretty face that at the time I felt was too plain, a good shape with full breasts firm and high on my chest, beautiful pink nipples, hard now after my swim, narrow waist and rounded hips, flat stomach and long tapering legs, cute little feet and toes; nothing to be ashamed of. I turned around and looked at my ass which was so white against my tan. I gave each perfectly round cheek a few firm spanks and smiled as they flushed pink, enjoying the sting and the tingle after. I climbed into the shower and began to soap up.
He must have left right after I did because it wasn't long before I heard the front door slam and Richard yell, "I'm back" and pad down past the bath, which separated our 2 rooms, and close his door. After a few minutes I looked into the mirror above the sink which was situated in such a way that I could see the reflection of the bathroom door. To my shock I saw it was partially open and Richard was standing there, staring at me. At first I was embarrassed and angry. But then I thought, well maybe I'll just give him a show. And that's when this plan blossomed, fully formed it seemed, in my brain.
The plan was simple. Our folks weren't home, they'd gone up the coast to see a play. With some acting of my own I could make a fantasy come true. I put down the wash cloth and began to soap myself with my hands. I had my back to Richard and I began slowly rubbing my bottom with the soapy lather my hands traveling suggestively over both cheeks and then down the cleft between paying special attention to my asshole. Then I slowly bent over washing my thighs, knees, calves and feet, giving him a full view of my ass and 'gina, as my friends called it.
I thought I had to be driving him crazy by this time but I had only just begun. I slowly turned around and with my eyes closed and what I hoped was an ecstatic expression on my face, soaped my breasts, pushing them up and together and then around in circles, squeezing them and pinching the nipples. I was starting to get excited myself now and felt a little juiciness between my legs. I lifted one foot and placed it on the edge of the tub and proceeded to wash between my legs. Rocking my hips forward I spread the lips exposing the tender pink inner flesh for him.
That's when I looked up and our eyes met. I yelled at him "Richard! What are you doing?!" He immediately left and I heard his door slam. I quickly rinsed off and got out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around me I ran to his room and knocked loudly. Not waiting for an answer I barged in. He was sitting on his bed with a book on his lap. (I hoped my acting talents were good enough to pull this off).
"You were spying on me!"
"I...I..."
"Why were you spying on me? How long had you been there? Oh God, you saw me naked!"
"No, it's...I..."
"I can't believe this, my own brother is a peeping tom! Were you rubbing yourself while you watched me shower? You were weren't you?" I grabbed the book from his lap and saw a significant bulge. "You little pervert, I'm going to tell dad!"
My father had a ferocious temper and although he hadn't in years would sometimes threatened us with the phrase "You're not to old to go over my knee for a spanking."
"No, Sandy, you can't!"
"Oh I not only can, I will."
"Please, Sandy, he'll kill me!"
"Oh, I have no doubt of that."
"Sandy please, don't tell. I'll, I'll do anything you want just don't tell dad."
"I'll bet he spanks you. Yeah, I'll bet he pulls your pants down and spanks you. He might even let me and mom watch. You'll be crying like a little girl, over his lap with your pants around your ankles."
"Sandy...Please...Anything."
"You deserve to be punished don't you?"
"Sandy..."
"Don't you?!"
"Yes"
