Sister Sherlock

Sister Sherlock:

The Case of the Perverted Brother

Like a mirage, the strap appeared and then disappeared. Aqua blue vanishing into black tightness, or the pitch-colored pants covering white tightness. Step, bounce; step, bounce; step, bounce–one hertz of my sister's thong. Involuntarily, I found myself getting the greatest erection of my life.

My sister was a blonde, but she was also a genius. I, on the other hand, was completely filled with testosterone. Just your typical nineteen-year-old male, I suppose. All except for one thing: I was a virgin. In other words, every morning I woke up with a tent-pole; every night I thought my balls would burst with sperm.

I ogled my sister's ass meditatively: Surely, she knew the effect those tight pants would have on me, even if she did not know her thong was showing–no it was not really showing–just peaking out now and again. Teasing me! Frustrating me! Blue-balling me!

Maybe she did not know the power of her looks. Maybe she thought I was immune because I was her brother, or maybe she credited me with greater self-control than I had. Don't get me wrong, I would never rape her. For one thing, I loved her too much and, for another thing, she knew judo.

I'm just kidding, but, though, again, I would never do anything violent, I was already losing control. Any second now, I knew I would start fantasizing. Right now, I was totally immersed in absorbing the image. Pretty soon I would be masturbating to it–to the thought of my own sister: mental incest, or, perhaps, if I may coin a term, solo-physical incest!

Damn the diabolic inventor of the thong!

Except for the movie Crocodile Dundee, starring Linda Kozlowski–I forget the name of the actor who played Dundee–the first thongs I saw were invariably pornographic. There was the softcore of Playboy, not to mention the harder stuff of other companies.

My first real life thong-sighting did not come for years later. Naturally, it was in Europe–Germany–to be precise. (Thank God for exchange programs!) Unfortunately, the trend was slower to infiltrate the States. I did not see my first U.S. thong until fully a year later–May of my senior year–the eleventh hour.

Well, I graduated in June and then found a summer job–three actually–and worked away the days till September, when I would start college. Time flew by. Unbeknownst to me, the thong continued to proliferate geometrically.

My first day on college campus I saw one. My second two. My third three. Three–and those were just the obvious ones, those that peaked out. Counting the lines–I never believed thongs were meant to hide pantylines–there were at least quadruple.

Pretty soon, I was seeing ones just hanging out, fully three or four inches above the top line of the pants, as a girl walked by, or even stood next to me, and if that was not enough to blue-ball an introverted virgin I soon saw the whole length of thongs. Well, I don't want to exaggerate–maybe not the whole length but at least that portion which was not encased in glorious hot-girl buttocks.

Sunny days–I used to hate them because I am red-haired and easily sunburn, but now they were giving me one of Superman's most vaunted powers: X-ray vision. Many girls wore skirts that were white and see-through. Ditto for pants, but there it did not stop with the color white. Some hot girls wore those mesh black pants with holes in them. I wasn't even seeing through material anymore. The clothing was conveniently pre-holed for perverts' boring-eyes.

As much as I like transparent clothing, the real pleasure came from seeing the hidden thongs. I would watch a girl as she sat down or got up; I could not help it. Like a druggie, I needed my fix. My eyes were drawn like magnets. Most times I would not see anything, but many times I would be rewarded. You never could tell who would show. Sometimes it was the whore; Other times it was the shy, geeky girl–the one who wore glasses.

It seemed that every hot girl was wearing them. Not only the students but also the TA's. I mean teacher's assistants, of course, but I suppose you could consider it a pun too. I was surprised once when a girl sitting in front of me sneezed and her thong popped out. She was using crutches; I held the door open for her. Isn't funny how hot girls bring out the manners in men?

Another time, I rose just as two girls in front of me were rising and saw that they were both wearing thongs–satiny and black–both of them, and they were friends. I wouldn't be surprised if they had bought them together. Not even if the same inspector had approved them both.

I did not trust to his competence: I wanted to do a follow up check myself. I think it would be too much to hope for that they were lesbians, but, you know how girls like to compare, they had probably seen each other in their underwear, if not completely buck naked and masturbating.

One time a hot black girl borrowed a pen from me. Though I finished writing earlier, I waited for her to return it–I was running low on pens and mine always seem to explode or go dry–but I wish that I had let her keep it. She was wearing a nylon thong and who knows? She might have masturbated with the pen. You know– after class–I would want it back if she did it during.

Sometimes I walked through the campus concourse just to look at the scenery. You would be surprised how often a girl walking in front of me dropped her cell-phone. It happened so often, I began to think I was an Esper and had telekinesis.

Once I saw two really geeky looking guys and a super hot chick working the Campus Crusade for Christ table. Of course, the girl bent over to pick something up–in front of the table–while I was walking by–and I saw her Victoria's Secret thong–three inches of vertical strap. Well, I signed up. I'm not sure, but I think if I were a Jew, I would have signed up. Most of what Jesus taught is just really old testament crib-notes, anyway.

I have been harping about thongs, but I don't want to leave out the other types of panties–I am all for celebrating diversity in female undergarments. Some panties were not thongs but still sexy. They were satiny or see-through. Some had bows on them–I could tell when they peaked out in the front.

Once I was really confused by an ass-less pair of panties. I kept looking for the vertical strap! For a while, I thought it was just dislodged–the girl had a small ass–but then she got up, and I knew for sure–well, either that or my telekinesis was better than I thought it was.

Heck, I even liked seeing the tiny frill of "grannie panties." That term really bothered me! As it is possible a hot, young woman to be unsexy!

Thongs may have gotten my dick the hardest, but a couple of milometers of the simple, often plain-white, so-called "large panties" still excited me greatly.

To my naïve and uncomplicated mind, they seemed to hint at virginity and an emotional closeness that could be achieved no where else. Personally, I think they were even harder to see as the girls who wore them often wore higher-waisted jeans, not to mention that they themselves were a rarer flower, as well.

It was not just what the women wore, but also what they did not: bras and some cases, even panties. It was not just the panties, but also what the women said. Women are always talking. Sometimes its annoying; other times it is titillating. One girl who was sitting next to me told everyone how she slept naked every night, always had.

Sometimes the girls even talked about thongs or panties. Once this happened before a final exam, while I was trying to do some last minute cramming. The guy sitting next to me said "Hey–we're trying to concentrate here!" and the four of us (including the two girls) had a real good laugh.

On the bus back, there were two hot Asian girls sitting in front of me. As if that was not enough for me to develop an Asian-fetish, one of them bent over and showed a white g-string as her phone was ringing Chopsticks. Well, I guess it was not precisely Chopsticks, but her thong did have its own theme music.

I'm not sure what you would call the number. You know that stereotypical "Asian music"– the kind featured in old movies–which is probably about as Asian as George Gershwin. It is bothering that I don't know–I remember her panties–four years later.

Anyway, it's partly featured in the eighties' song "I'm Turning Japanese" by the Vapors, not only in that song but also in the even better–at least to me–seventies' one: "Kung Fu Fighting" by Carl Douglas.

The build-up to finals had been rather hectic. When I came home for break, I expected a quiet period. Needless to say, I was caught off guard, when I saw my sister wearing a thong.

I fought it, but it was like someone had spiked my drink with Viagra, Cialis, and whatever that third drug is. I tried to think of other things, but I could not. All I could think about was–well, being my sister's thong, and that was the most polite of my fantasies.

Of course, we were not the wonder twins, my sister and I–I could not simply turn into a thong, or a pair of tight pants, or a matching bra, or, perhaps, most ingeniously, a dildo or vibrator. I could, however, sneak into her room when she went out for the night, find her disregarded pants, reach into them and sniff her thong and maybe lick it a little.

That was not what I did though, at least not immediately. I had a certain level of pride and control, as well as respect for my sister and her property. Doing what I was thinking of doing would be wrong. Besides there was a moral question at stake: what if she caught me?

First, I had to wrestle with myself, figuratively–mentally. I tried to picture something unsexy, but my powers of concentration failed me. So much for being an Esper!

All I could think about was my sister's bouncing ass. I had never seen it, not naked anyway, at least not recently, not since it developed, yet I felt I could easily picture it because of the black pants–so round and so tight, which is to say very round and very tight.

I am not sure, but I think that in a similar situation Buddha himself would have been hard-pressed. Anyhow I saw that funny video with the Buddhist priest turning his head as the hot girl walked past. Well, the two funny videos to be precise, not including "Hot Shotz: Part Deuz", which I also found mildly amusing.

I tried hard but was just too hard. After four hours of being erect, not partially erect, I should say, I surrendered to the impulse to masturbate. I felt that my dick might fall off if I did not. Well, I was doubtful but also superstitious. Sometimes, it is convenient to believe in the myths of masturbation. The ones that are in the "pro category" anyway.

Left, right, left–I saw her walking in front of me again, the light blue thong popping out like a pedometer. Now my reservations dissolved; I felt morally obligated. It was either that or come in my pants, next time my sister walked by. Not that I was exactly against the idea, but, again, she might notice, and somehow I felt that it would be impolite.

I ran upstairs, and spread newspaper on my desk: The New York Times. Biased, pinko rag, I thought. Well, at least you are good for something. This and birdcages, anyhow.

Not that I was particularly political, or a Republican for that matter, but I did not see the good in reporting opinion instead of news.

If you think I'm an idiot, please, try this experiment: when a scandal story breaks–if it breaks–if they don't sit on it, that is–like that John Edwards thing–for more than a year, in fact–note what line of the column mentions party affiliation. If it is early on, it's invariably Republican. If it's late or absent, it's Democratic. Their editorials are even worse.

What is the good of never criticizing politicians just because they have a tiny "D" next to their names? What about the national debt? What about the importance of private investment? Well, let me get off my soapbox.

I undid my belt. It jingled, and, because I was wary of my sister, I turned on the radio to provide some white noise. As luck would have the first song was I want to make you sweat. I did not need to boot up my computer for porn, or use even any magazines. The image of my sister was still in my mind.

I came quickly. The height of my pleasure, even surprised me. My orgasm was so intense that the Times ended up escaping. (Next time! I thought.)

I came on the wall. Fortunately, the paint was somewhat dark. I would hate to think what would have happened to wallpaper. The whole thing was something of a precedent for me, and, I had masturbated hundreds of times before. Well, at least in that spot.

As I watched my massive load drip creamily down the wall, Madonna's song "Like a Virgin" came on. I know it was from the eighties, but it still seemed to express a personal zeitgeist for me.

My cock shrunk only a little before hardening completely again. Out of some weird sense of vanity, call it curiosity, if you will, I measured it, and it seemed half an inch longer than normal. That and more girthy, though I had never taken the circumference before. My eyes turned to the wall again–my desk was pretty wide and high. Maybe I should have called Guinness.

I tried distracting myself by watching television, but cold showers are not the preferred method for nothing. I actually saw a thong on the newscast. There was some crisis somewhere (Go figure!) and some volunteers were loading a truck. A hot girl, probably only sixteen, bent over.

Well, that's one way to get more volunteers–perhaps even the best way. For the first time, I noted the city: It was a local one. I would have tipped my hat to the cameraman–that good soul!–but he was probably acting unconsciously, or, perhaps, I should say, subconsciously.

I would hate to think what would have happened, if I had put my head in that Krell brain booster thing from the movie Forbidden Planet. The crew would have been safe but not Morpheus's daughter–and that's only if the thing did not have the range to reach earth.

Why, on earth there are millions–millions of hot woman, including my sister! After all, there are no limits to the mind! None, at all!

Ah, yes, the id! Ah, yes, my sister!

In a little while, she went out for the night. I had fought with myself a long time. I decided I needed a reward, something suitably perverted. Sweet for the sweet-tooth, you know.

I could barely control myself, but I waited a couple of minutes. It seemed like hours–days–weeks–but I waited. It would have been awkward, if she saw the lights suddenly go on in her room, once she had stepped out the door. Maybe she would not notice or just think she had forgotten to turn them off, but, then again, maybe she would come back and find me rummaging through her panty-draw.

Perhaps, I would be inspired and be able to think of some plausible excuse.

So sorry, Sis, I misplaced my glasses. Could you help me find them? No, I did not mean to come in here. I thought it was my room, and my underwear draw. What are they doing in your panties? When did I start wearing glasses? Well, it is funny you should mention that...

When you walked by me, and I saw your ass bouncing, my eyes sort of goggled. As a result, I needed prescription lenses. Yes, I know it sounds funny but it's true.

Bye the bye, I also misplaced something else. Could it, by some mistake, be in your panties–the ones you are wearing now? I can't describe it and am terribly nearsighted–from the effect of you ass–please, have mercy on me–but if I could taste it, or probe for it, well, then I would know for sure.

I turned the knob fatefully. When I turned on the lights, I felt I was crossing the Rubicon. The die is cast! I am a perv for my sister!

My heart raced as searched the room. I was looking for something sexual, anything–a thong, a vibrator, a dildo–something that I could put in my mouth. I know it sounds gay, but I thought the dildo would be the easiest to find.

Boy, was I wrong! My sister had many accoutrements! There was shampoo, conditioner, hairspray, deodorant, and many I could not name.

Of course, my sister was very smart. There were also advanced books on biochemistry, physics, and biology; perhaps, I could ask my sister to tutor me–in biology, especially–although I suppose that there would be some biochemistry involved in the wetness of the vagina and the production of sperm, and so on. Though I got an A in all those classes, maybe I could pick one and alter it so that it appeared to be an F.

I had a similar thought when I saw a mat for Pilates; perhaps, she would volunteer to teach me exercising in the nude. And if she did not already use that method, one could always propose it in a totally unassuming and accidental sort of way.

Hello, Big Sis! I recently read Benjamin Franklin's autobiography. You know, he advocated sleeping in the nude. Butt– not his, yours, of course–it is past the Bicentennial. Perhaps, you could do something else in the nude to be progressive, like me for instance–I'm just saying: Why not kick it up a notch?

One of my first discoveries was also the most mind blowing: a bottle of hair removal gel. Well, they say dynamite comes in small packages! This was like a bottle of nitroglycerin–so my sister was bald after all! Even with her long hair!

My next eureka moment came only an instant later when I discovered she was on the pill! These were earth-shattering discoveries. Suddenly, I felt like I was on a roll. Who knows? Perhaps, next I would discover the cures for cancer and world hunger, and follow up with a solution to the energy problem. I wasn't quite sure what it would be–something to do with the sexual impulse, most likely–my sexual impulse.

Wardrobes, bureaus: my sister had a lot of furniture. She also had a lot of clothes. Well, you know what they say: capitalism would not work without women! Sure there would be a healthy black market in porn–rough drawings of naked, nonexistent women, and perhaps television would be a little better–but unfortunately we would all be forced to be communists!

It took me a while to find the right draw and the right items, but, when I did, it was well worth all the efforts.

I felt like a bee discovering the flowers of a secret garden: there were panties of every color. Beautiful, glorious, pleasant-smelling sister panties! Some were even rainbow colored. A couple were stitched with seemingly incongruous cartoon themes. I felt very envious of Charlie Brown. At least his dog was getting close to my sis's pus.

One pair had tie-sides. I bit them gently, but did not untie them because I was to fearful of leaving a sign of my presence, something that would betray me to my clever sister. Perhaps, this is what started me on the oral fetish.

I could not believe the size of a certain red, micro-thong: it was very easy to stuff the whole thing in my mouth. Yes, I could not transform into a thong, but I still could do the next best thing. I licked the crotches of the others, also where I thought her bush would be, if she had one–theoretically she might have just used the hair removal gel on her legs.

I hoped she would not notice if her panties were a little wet. Hell, she was probably wet there anyway!

The cotton ones, the satin ones, and the silk ones–it was not long before I licked them all, and then I suddenly found myself wishing that my sister wore tights or leotards. Better yet–that it was summer and there was a bikini handy and also that we had a swimming pool were I could watch her wearing it. Not to mention the fact that I could also fraternally get her a popsicle.

Perhaps, we would both be licking icy treats, although, all things considered, I would like it better if she sucked hers, that is as long as it lasted long enough to have the desired effect, you know, caused her thermometers to pop-up. It is not for nothing popscicles won out over bananas in the contest of sexiest food for a girl to eat. Well, our backyard was big enough; I suppose that I could dig one.