Although my sister Jen is, in reality, a sweet girl; I haven't always felt kindly towards her. To most people, she appears to be the innocent young woman. To me, however, she was forever the brat who had adopted the strategy of screaming at the top of her lungs to get her way. Eventually, I grew older. My hormones soon overwhelmed my constant annoyance with her. Jen had become a sexy girl: nice firm breasts, long coltish legs, and of course that same pretty face that had much earlier perfected her unique brand of tortured wail. I don’t know about her—but after I learned how to get what I wanted, I liked her a lot more. At least I pretended to.
My strategy was never the intentional application of some inner revelation, but more like an unintentionally systematic testing of boundaries. She liked some things. Other things she didn’t like. For one, I found that she would tolerate a great deal of physical touching as long as I was gentle and affectionate in spirit. At first, we would just "cuddle," while watching television. She would curl up on the floor in front of the television, and I would lay down near her, curling myself up, in a friendly, "big-brotherly' sort of way. The fact that she rather enjoyed the cuddling was incidental to the massive hard-on that tented my pants. The fog of lust pushed any doubts about the correctness of my intentions aside. I took what I could get.
One night, our parents were away for the evening. By tradition, I was "in charge,” although this was clearly irrelevant at our ages. Still, in the back of my mind I knew this was a chance to get in a good grope without the parents’ potential interference. After she came back from swimming practice, Jen had a favorite show that she liked to watch. So right before it came on, I sprawled out on the floor, laying my hand at my side. Jen settled down into her usual position on her stomach and elbows, supporting her chin with her hands. I’m sure she knew what was going on, but there was an unspoken agreement—a certain feigned ignorance that was necessary to the process. I pretended to watch the show she was watching, with a great display of interest. After a little bit, I rested my hand along the back of her thigh.
"Nice armrest … " I murmured, as if to clarify my ostensive purpose. I could feel the back of her warm thigh beneath the palm of my hand. She was wearing shorts, so my hand was directly on her bare thigh. I watched her reaction. She didn't say anything. I let gravity pull my arm down, so that my arm slid down between her legs on the floor, and my palm and arm was on her inner thigh.
"Hey." She said sharply. "Umm … If you're gonna do that—perhaps you could massage my legs?”
I took my opportunity, and got right behind her, straddling her legs. I was wearing long pants, so I could not feel the bare skin of her thighs against my own inner thighs. But I could feel the firm flesh through my pants. I massaged each of her thighs thoroughly, gradually working my way up to her crotch. Casually, as if it were nothing, I asked:
"Would you like me to massage your butt?"
"Um, sure." She replied. With deep, long, strokes, I pulled at the muscles in her ass. It was firm, and it felt so good. I wanted to feel her bare skin, though. Watching her carefully for a reaction, I slipped my hands up the back of her shorts and under the elastic of her panties. I firmly grasped the globes of her ass, my thumbs gradually slipping down along the crack of her ass...
A commercial came on the television. "Umm" she said, "I've gotta go pee."
My heart was racing and the pressure at the base of my abdomen was overwhelming. I got up. "It's kind of warm," I dropped casually. "I think I'm going to change." I tactfully hid my erection with my forearm.
I practically ran to my room. I shucked my socks and shoes and underwear, and pulled out my nylon running shorts. Pulling them on, I walked nonchalantly back into the living room. I noticed that Jen had taken off her shoes. She was now barefoot like me. She settled down into the same position as before, propping her chin with her palms.
I didn't say anything. I just straddled her thighs, and continued massaging her upper thighs, occasionally venturing up beneath her shorts. I could feel the smooth skin of her thighs, now, against the bare skin of my own inner thighs.
Nothing going on here. Just a massage. That’s right. Jen looked back at me, pointedly. "Oh." she said. "Get my back, too?"
"Sure." I replied. "What's a brother for?" I forced a weak laugh. I slid forward, a bit, so I was just about sitting on her butt. I reached out my hands and slowly slid them under the back of her t-shirt. Up the small of her back, I swept my hands along the muscle lines with long, slow strokes. I could feel the strap of her brassiere against her bare back. My breath quickened, and I could almost taste her skin under my fingers.
"Mmmm … that's good," she said. I continued massaging her back, with longer, deeper strokes. I leaned far forward, so that I was practically lying on top of her. With my massage, her shorts had ridden up, somewhat. As a result, I now felt my rock-hard cock pressing down along her butt crack, through the thin nylon of my shorts. As I lay on top of her, I could also feel the soft pressure of her warm butt between my thighs. My chest pressed against her back; my lips hovered not more than an inch from the back of her neck.
I struggled to control my breathing, keeping it slow and steady. I slipped my hands beneath her bra strap, stroking her back. Gradually, I inched my hands along until they were on either side of her chest, almost to her front. Jen shifted her weight beneath me. I swear that she deliberately pushed her ass up against my crotch for a second. Then she turned over slightly, forcing me off of her. It looked like the ride was over.
I tried to compose myself, slowing my breathing. She got up, and went off to her room. I waited for a minute and pretended to watch television, but the main attraction was gone.
I was so horny, now, but it was late. I could feel the pressure like a ten-pound weight in my groin as I prepared for bed. I pulled off my shirt and slid my hand into the nylon shorts. Maybe I could sneak over to her room and watch her for a minute. God, I felt perverted.
I heard a knock on the door that interrupted my prurient thoughts. I opened the door to find my sister standing there in her pale blue flannel nightgown with the lace collar. She looked so little and helpless. "Could I get a favor?" Jen asked. "My back is still sore -- I thought that it might help if you cracked it for me?"
I knew what she was referring to. If one physically lifted her off the floor from her shoulders, the bones in her back would pop, much as one cracking one's knuckles. It relieved the pressure of fluid in the joints. It was also a prime opportunity to hug her from behind. Was she doing this deliberately?
