This is the next part of the Sisterfest saga I promised, and tells the story of the rejected sister seen in Part 1. This story runs parallel with Chapters 1, 2 & 3, so some of the incidents and events from the first part are here, although seen and told from a different perspective to Finn and Lara's story.
My thanks, as always, to GrandTeton for editing and being patient with me as I blatantly disregarded everything he so patiently tried to teach me, and to Jabbawookie for some great ideas and reader feedback.
Please remember, this story happens in my made-up world, it's a fantasy, not a depiction of real-life, so certain things happen the way I want them to, not necessarily how they would happen in the real world.
If you like this story, please feel free to vote and/or comment, if you didn't, I'd be just as happy to hear why not.
All characters indulging in adult activities are adults eighteen years of age or older.
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This is a re-posting of the original chapter, which I took down as I didn't have the time to address the second half of Naomi & Rowan's story, and I didn't think it would be fair to leave people hanging. So please, no claims of plagiarism, if you think you read this before, you probably did, but I removed it; now that the second half is almost done, I feel better about re-posting this first part.
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Part 1: Rowan
My name is Rowan Redman, and this is the story of how my life began, my real life, not the first twenty-one years or so; I sleepwalked through them, like probably most of my generation. My life actually started when I was twenty-two, when I was still at university, studying for an MSc. in Architectural Engineering and living at home with my mother and my little sister, Naomi, known to the world at large as Nimmie, or just plain Nim.
Mum was an author, writing for various magazines, local interest pieces for the most part, but also several moderately successful children's books under various noms de plume. We were what you could probably call a typical family.
My father did a bunk when I was thirteen; he was an investment counsellor and broker, and when his business took off, so did he, shacking-up with his nineteen year old secretary with tits like basketballs and a brain you could fit in a mouse's ear and still have room for her personality. Mum was heartbroken, as she should have been, but she pulled it all together and carried on, doing the work of two parents because our feckless father didn't want anything more to do with us.
So Dad disappeared from our lives and other than the monthly maintenance payments we never saw or heard from him again, not even the occasional birthday card for his only daughter, and now I was the man of the family for real, all fourteen years of me. Nimmie is a year and a bit younger than me, and polar opposites to me in almost every way. I'm dark haired, with grey-green eyes ('Hazel' mum and Nimmie call them); she's corn-blonde, with startling green eyes; I'm tall and athletic, not exactly buff, but not skinny either, kind of nondescript, and usually badly dressed, and she's petite, usually dressed-down, not a party-girl by any means, but a complete knockout if you take a closer look at her.
We differed in other ways too. I played most sports, but my favourites were tennis and cricket in the summer and rugby and soccer the rest of the year, and I preferred to spend Saturday evenings socialising with my friends, whether clubbing or pubbing, while Nim preferred to study or listen to mum's old Everly Brothers, Roy Orbison, and Skeeter Davis records.
Boys were starting to notice her, and I had my hands full reminding some of the more determined spotty creeps who wanted to try their luck with her that if they came within touching distance of my little sister, they were going home with their dicks nail-gunned to the back of their heads, and if they didn't believe me, they were welcome to try.
Things finally settled down when Nim left school and started university; I'd sort-of accepted she was a grown-up now, so she needed her space, but I didn't let down my guard too far; Nim was gorgeous if you looked beyond the studious look and nerdish air she cultivated. She was studying nursing at the Croydon University hospital, so not a million miles from our home in Caterham, in Surrey; at least it meant I could still keep an eye on her.
She'd grown into a medium height, quietly beautiful girl, with a shapely, feminine, but not extravagant figure, and had taken to wearing her hair twirled-up in a kind of 'bun', as she didn't want to cut it, and the hospital didn't want the nursing trainees draping their hair all over the patients. With her big-rimmed glasses on, and her tightly bound hair, she looked studious and meek, almost invisible, and when not in her nurse's whites or scrubs, slobbed around in my old sweats and T-shirts.
I did notice one thing odd about her, though: no boyfriends. Ever. Mum even went so far as to ask me if I didn't think Nim might be a lesbian, not that it mattered, but I laughed it off. It got me thinking though; never a boyfriend, not even the occasional date. Saturdays invariably saw her sprawled on the living-room floor in sweats or old tracksuit bottoms and tee-shirt, studying, watching TV, or just reading.
If I asked her why, since nurses were all legendarily sex-crazed man-eaters, wasn't she out causing trouble with her pals, she'd just dimple and say she had everything she needed right here, which always unsettled me, for reasons I couldn't understand or explain.
I have to say, though, watching her stretched out on the floor on her tummy, with her ankles crossed behind her, and her bum gently flexing and jiggling as she hand-wrote her notes for the day, was always something I looked forward to, even if I wouldn't admit it to myself.
However, one thing soon made itself apparent to me. For all her efforts to 'dress-down' and look dowdy, I couldn't help but see just what a hottie my little sister really was; when she wasn't wearing drab, baggy old clothes or bathrobes, it was obvious she had a stunning little figure: a tiny little waist, what they used to call a 'wasp-waist', a tight, shapely little bum, and pert boobs that her tiny waist just made look bigger.
The first time I noticed, I couldn't help but notice everything, then felt disgusted with myself, and permanently soiled, for ogling my baby sister like that. Nim never even noticed me noticing, otherwise I felt sure she would have landed me a good slap in the face.
Of course, once I took notice of her, it became impossible to stop noticing her; in fact, it became almost my obsession. Nimmie didn't seem to be that bothered when she blearily wandered down for breakfast on a Sunday morning wearing nothing except one of my old sweatshirts and a pair of tight little panties, and then of course, all I'd be seeing in my mind's eye for the rest of the day would be her taut, round, perfect little bottom in those tightly stretched panties, each well-defined, globular bubble-cheek quivering delightfully atop her long, perfect thighs, and those things jiggling around inside her sleeping top.
It was driving me crazy; I found my sister deliciously attractive, but I was supposed to protect her, not leer at her every opportunity I got; what kind of pervert was I, and what should, or could, I do about it?
