Ok Diary, this is the zinger. I've thought long and hard about whether to record this or not, but I have to. It's eating at my mind too much.
As you well know, I've always been a sleepwalker. It's a running joke for the rest of the family, but at times, it's been terrifying. Suddenly waking up to find you are sitting on the couch in front of the television at 2am isn't overly scary even if it is unnerving. But waking up sitting in the car with the keys in the ignition, staring at the garage door is a fucking nightmare. I know because it happened. What if I'd tried to drive?
I know I wrote about that one. It was that incident that prompted me to move back to my parents house at the age of 26. I'd been out on my own for some time, but that episode completely un-nerved me. It was enough that I asked Mum and Dad if I could come back and stay with them while I sought professional help, just so that there was someone to keep an eye on me and hopefully prevent me from doing something dangerous.
They were happy to have me of course, Mum in particular looked forward to having another woman in the house having been abandoned to just Dad and my younger brother (I can't believe he's turned 18 and is in his final year of school!)
Of course the instant that I moved out of home he claimed my bedroom as it was larger and had better light than his. I couldn't exactly demand it back, so I settled in his old room and only occasionally gave him shit about the fact that he was in my room.
The first month was fine. I didn't sleep walk at all and my therapist thought that we were on a good track and might have even cracked it. She did warn me that it was possible that it was just the familiar environment of home that might have stopped it. No problem with that other than not wanting to live with the 'rents for the rest of my life!
The second month put test to that assessment when I started sleep walking again. Nothing serious, just finding myself standing in front of the fridge as if looking for a late night snack or waking up in front of the television as I had before, without memory of how I had got there. One time Dad found me taking the ironing board out of the laundry! I hate ironing at the best of times, so I joked with him that maybe that would be a good one to let slide. I might have woken up to find out that I'd finished all my laundry. Other than handling a scorching iron whilst asleep, what was the problem?
The next occasion wasn't dangerous, but it was bloody embarrassing. I woke up in my brother's bed.
It was 4am and I woke to him shaking me.
'What the fuck are you doing?' he'd asked me.
I didn't even respond. I was out to the world and it took him a moment to realise that this was part of the sleepwalking. He woke me up and when I realised where I was, I was glad it was dark enough that he couldn't see just how deep and red my blush was. I scrambled out of his bed in my light summer pyjamas and hustled back to where I was supposed to be.
If that had been the only time that it had ever happened I wouldn't have minded, but I think that him being in my old room complicated things. I wasn't prepared to tell Mum and Dad, it was way too embarrassing. Not to mention that my sleepwalking was enough of a source of jokes without providing them with more ammunition.
A couple of weeks passed without ending up anywhere untoward again and like so many times before, I thought that maybe I was on the way to beating it.
A lot of the rest of this I only know from what I've been told much later, but I'll tell it as I've been told it happened and will have to trust that what I've been told is accurate.
I woke up in my brother's bed again. This time, unlike the first time, I was alone and it was morning. Worse, I was topless! Later in the day when I tracked him down, I asked what had happened. He told me that I'd again climbed into his bed but that this time, he hadn't been able to wake me up and so he'd decided to simply get into my bed and do a swap. He reckons he was too freaked out as to what would happen if I woke up in bed with him without my top on.
What he told me what really happened much later was very different.
Apparently I'd done a little more than just climb into the bed. He woke up as I entered the room, my opening of his door having disturbed me. He had watched, a little amused and still a bit groggy from me waking him as I entered the room. I stopped just before the bed. I pulled off my top and then, with only my little summery pyjama shorts on, worked my way into his bed. He tells me he was stunned. I have nice tits. This is not false modesty, its fact. I've told you before how much boys stare at them. They're a b cup, not too small, not too big and they don't sag at all. Every man that has ever seen or touched them has complimented me on them and I've spent more than a little time enjoying them myself. I run, I swim and I keep myself in excellent shape. I keep my auburn hair a modest length, a couple of inches past my shoulders and I know that if I want I can draw the eye of any man in the room.
Apparently my brother has noticed all this too, especially as he's been going through his teenage years and his hormones have ran rampant. So when I climbed topless into his bed he reckons that he was already rock hard just from getting to see the tits he'd been trying to glimpse ever since he could remember.
Then I snuggled up to him! He claims it was like I tried to use him as a teddy bear. I mashed my tits against him and sent his hormones into over-drive. That messed up his decision-making processes and he decided to see just what would happen before I woke up. He wriggled free of my embrace and apparently I assumed my so nicely described 'starfish' sleeping position, spread out on my back like a great big welcome mat. He pulled the sheet down off me so that my tits were exposed and spent quite a long time just looking at them and stroking his erection.
He turned his reading lamp on to get a good look at them, but soon looking wasn't enough to satisfy him. He gently placed a hand on my breast and gave it a little squeeze, watching my face the whole time to see if I would react. When I didn't wake up he experimented more, running his finger around my nipple, watching as it hardened and rose in response. I have very perky nipples, with small areolae that you could cover with a quarter. Everyone is always surprised at just how far the nipple itself pokes out when it's hard. They're like magic. I love them and get especially turned on when they are sucked and tweaked. I even like it quite rough.
When he had them both standing up to attention, he played with them for a bit, amazed that I was sleeping through the whole thing. He tells me that I started to moan and writhe on the bed, but I do have limits as to what I believe.
At this point he was getting close to cumming, his raging cock about to explode due to the unexpected encounter. He says that he really wanted to cum all over my tits, but that he was worried that I'd either wake up as he did it, before he could clean me up, or as he was cleaning me. He settled instead for lowering his mouth to my nipple and sucking it! That was his tipping point and with his hand clutching tissues to his cock, he exploded. After that he fled to my room feeling guilty and embarrassed.
When I woke up and realised the state of my undress and where I was, I freaked out. What had I done and why the hell was my pussy so fucking wet? His initial story pacified me somewhat, but looking back I have to laugh about thanking him for being so chivalrous about it even if he had admitted to liking the glimpse he claimed to have had at my tits.
Every night after that I'd be going to bed praying that I wouldn't again wake up in my brother's. Apparently he went to bed praying the exact opposite.
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The next time I sleep walked; Mum caught me going down the hall in my bikini with a towel over my shoulder. Talk about fucking random and weird. It was really starting to get to me.
Despite my prayers, it seems that Grant's (my brother) were heard first, because it happened again. Apparently the next time I didn't take my top off, but having had a taste of the forbidden, Grant was feeling bolder the second time around.
Once I had settled myself in his bed, he'd pulled the covers down to admire my sleeping form. Then, dissatisfied with the state of my clothing, he pulled my top up to expose my breasts again. He played with them, toying with the nipples, testing what he could get away with, how hard he could pull them, the whole time on a knife edge as he expected me to wake. I didn't.
The curiosity of a teenage boy is apparently a hard thing to temper and it wasn't long until he was wondering what my pussy was like. He pulled my pants down far enough to expose it. I keep my pussy lips bare of hair and have a quarter-inch wide landing strip leading to just above my slit. As he had with my nipples, he advanced his explorations in slow, hesitant steps. First he just looked. He has had a bit of experience with girls, but not a lot, so it was an opportunity he was going to make the most of.
According to him, looking only built his curiosity further and soon he was touching me, running his finger gently up and down my lips and along my landing strip, stopping occasionally to give his cock a good hard thrashing with his hand, bringing himself to the point of cumming and then backing off again to play with me instead.
