I was eighteen the first time I saw my sister in the flesh. She had left in the dark, early, murky recesses of my past when I was a mere two-year-old.
The little girl who left was obviously unrecognisable from the lady now gracefully striding down our driveway.
She glided down the path, her long, healthy black hair flowing around her healthy complexion. Her glossy lips lit up as they broke into a smile, giving a glint to her immense, beguiling eyes.
Her high heels clicked on the gravel with every step as her long black dress, with a deep cleavage, fluttered around her nylon-covered legs. Momentarily, her face glanced down at her feet for reassurance of her step, and her thick, long, curly black hair cascaded down over her shoulders and large breasts.
I just about remembered our old, smoky terrace house in my mind's dim, dark recesses. I was a year or more younger than Olivia in a street full of older boys. As a consequence, I was never invited to join in with their grown-up games.
I was alone but not bothered, as I was only two years old. 'Olly', as I always called her, would always take me to the local park, shops, or one of the many parties thrown in those dark, austere times.
I had blurred memories of her taking me by the hand, walking me everywhere, and playing games in our small back garden.
Olly always treated me like her baby, feeling responsible for keeping me entertained. At the same time, the older boys played their rough house games.
Then, one day, she and my father disappeared. This event didn't affect me emotionally as much as I would have thought. My father never seemed to be around, as he worked shifts, so I hardly missed him. Olly, on the other hand, was missed. Not that it got me down; I just adapted to playing independently, as any little kid would.
However, I was aware of a change in my mother's emotional well-being. Still, it was well beyond my reasoning until my later years.
I remember asking about the disappearance of my father only to be met with a curt, "I don't want to talk about it". Years later, I pushed harder for an answer and got a torrent of abusive language. Mother was distressed, her tears and cracking voice giving her away.
I never broached the subject again except when my mother would unconsciously burst out an expletive, letting me know that the subject was still raw.
Mother eventually gave into her inner demons and started to see a psychiatrist and got involved with local group therapy at our doctor's.
As I grew older, I became interested in Psychology and eventually studied it in college.
I tracked Olivia down after a dying aunt drunkenly told me of her whereabouts at one family get-together. She told me that she had changed her surname, which, along with the emergence of the internet, made Olivia easy to track down.
My sister's physical attributes weren't lost on me when we were on FaceTime, and I became incredibly guilty when I found Myself painfully erect.
I eased my guilt by being aware of the attraction to siblings when somebody separated them at a young age. That didn't stop me from being incredibly aroused and frustrated, knowing that my hard cock could never be calmed by my magnificent sister unless I committed incest.
I felt guilty admiring her luscious form as I had to remind myself that she was my sister. One little thing that gave her away was a gold heart-shaped pendant erotically birthed in her cleavage.
It was a pendant she guarded with her life as a little girl, and somehow I remembered it.
She greeted us at the door with a cheery smile, and our mum hugged her. Tears were in her eyes as she spouted emotional platitudes.
Olivia eventually pulled away from her and advanced towards me. "Hello, Paul," she greeted with open arms, quickly pulling me in and squeezing me in upon her large breasts.
"Good to see you in the flesh," she said as she gave me a peck on my cheek. We talked on FaceTime for nearly a year, and she proved to be a fascinating company. She had a beautiful face with beguiling green eyes, which was lucky because they gave me something to look at instead of slavishly slobbering over her marvellous breasts.
Olivia presented her boobs differently every time, and I sensed she was trying to tease me. Her favourite was a tight-fitting sweater, which smoothly mapped the contours of her boobs. Occasionally, she would have her deep cleavage on show. Once, she had come onto FaceTime straight from the shower with only a towel precariously clinging to her breasts.
She was a good conversationalist, never leaving awkward pauses, repeating herself or giving in to endless cliches. I always steered the conversation away from our youth as I had many things to be embarrassed about. There was also the dark lunacy of our mother, a subject we both wanted to stay clear of.
A conversation was something to be treasured as I often found myself mesmerised by her tits, which was ironic as my degree in psychology had reached the topic of mesmerism, something she inflicted on me every time we were on FaceTime. I would have to control myself as my cock strained in my trousers. She once appeared without a bra, and her nipples strained against the light fabric of her blue cotton jumper.
I had only seen pictures of her as a teenager in all her awkwardness. She was a late developer in the boob department, and they caught the eye. She had flourished, and her big breasts looked as if they were trying to escape the bindings of her push-up bra and tight-fitting dress.
I would have loved to be able to give her more time, but unfortunately, my education had to take precedence. I was working hard for my degree. Unfortunately, I became obsessed, and soon, Olivia was in our house for six months without me getting to know her. For Olivia's part, she had quickly made friends in the neighbourhood and started working.
A module in hypnotism was in the curriculum, something that I wanted to enjoy. Unfortunately, the subject proved to be frustrating. In my class, the tutor told the pupils to break up into pairs; one would play the hypnotist, the other the patient. The Hypnotherapist would read from a sheet of paper with instructions, helping his patient relax and finally put into a trance. We were using directional Hypnosis as opposed to Somnambulism, or non-directive Hypnosis, one of the deepest stages of Hypnosis. That was the one that interested me more, as It is what sleepwalkers experience.
I didn't realise I had been so swamped with my studies until Olivia said," Why are you always ignoring me?"
I looked up from my books in surprise. "What do you mean?" I stalled as my mind went into a rapid survey of our relationship, thinking about when I had ignored her.
