On Paper, It Was Incest (ch. 1)
2003-06-30
When that wasn’t enough, when I couldn’t get my hands on that one copy of the well-read Playboy, I’d turn to drawing women in various stages of undress, shamelessly using lingerie catalogs as my inspiration. This was before the dawn of the internet, of course, with its plethora of freely available porn, so I had to make do. I’d try to imagine what the women would look like naked, and draw them as I imagined them, though at the time it never occurred to me that a bra-clad breast has a shape totally unlike a naked one. And don’t even get me started on my conceptions of the pubic region – without concise knowledge of what a vulva even was in the first place, I can assure you, I couldn’t draw one for shit. But hey, it turned me on, and that was good enough for a while, though the masturbatory fantasies of pencil-drawn women only served to heighten my overall frustrations. Ultimately, it was through writing, not drawing, that I became truly satisfied – in more ways than one, as will become apparent. The art I drew was nothing compared to the moving pictures of the soft-core I would occasionally be privy to, so one day I took up a pen, and lacking the complete knowledge of sex I would actually need, I wrote my first soft-core sex story. I don’t remember what exactly it was about per se, but I do know that the more I wrote about a man and a woman meeting and engaging in what I thought at the time were wild sex acts, the hard my cock would grow in my pants, and I’d run for release. It wasn’t so much the pictures as it was the deeds, all lovingly detailed in my horrible handwriting, that really set me off. It took me a long time to finish my first one, what with all the stoppages for rampant masturbation, but I finished it, loved it, and went on to write more and more stories. Combined with the hand-drawn pictures and magazine clippings, I eventually filled a small desk drawer with painstakingly crafted porn (if low quality), sprung from the mind of a horribly horny teen mind. Despite the mass of papers in the drawer, however, one day when coming home from a friend’s house, I noticed one of the stories missing. Fear ran through my mind – did my parents raid my room? Did I leave the story lying out on the coffee table? Oh shit, what if my sister found it! I remember the cold sweat, the chills I had very clearly – the possibility that my fourteen-year old sister, two years younger than me, had somehow discovered my secret, and perhaps shameful, hobby. I was home alone at the time, and I had to fight the fear of discovering the horrible truth. Slowly, I crept down the hallway, as if I had made a noise, the jig would have been up. My sister had a desk in here room identical to mine, and once I finally reached it, heart pounding in my chest, I looked inside only to find that my worst fears were realized.
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My story, the missing one, lay there amidst other papers and pens and typical desk drawer items. The lump in my throat grew to be unbearable, and I distinctly recall the inability to breathe. What could I possibly say to her if she confronted me with the evidence of my horrible, perverted mind? Would she tell my parents? Would she even understand it? Even if I had the answers to these questions, I still didn’t know how she found the story in the first place. She couldn’t have actually taken it from my desk, I thought, despite the fact that I was essentially doing the same thing by peeking into her desk. I knew I had to leave my story where it was, pretend I never noticed it missing, and hope it all blew over. To do anything else would have completely blown any cover I had. Reaching back for the drawer, I was set to close it when I noticed some purple colored paper in the drawer, written on in my sister’s distinct handwriting. I saw the word ‘cock’ spelled out distinctly, peeking out from beneath my own story. Reaching inside the drawer, I discovered that my sister had apparently been inspired by my story to write one of her own. My own cock sprang instantly to life at the mere thought of it – here my own sister was reading the masturbatory fantasies of my own juvenile mind, and coming up with her own in kind. My thoughts progressed to the next logical step – if I masturbated while writing these, then surely, my sister did as well, and the contemplation of that fact drove me wild. Why I thought I was the only person in the house that pleasured him or herself was beyond me, and of course I had no hard proof that was even the case, but if there was even a chance that her fingers had at some point in time pushed down beneath her panties and…The thought was too much to bear. I quickly returned everything in her drawer to where I found them and ran back to my room, horny as all hell, unable to get the thought of my sister touching herself out of my mind.Escort Luxury Greece, Escorts Athens, Escorts, Athens escorts, Athens girls, Athens escorts and Athens Escort Girls, Ragazze Puttane Athens, Athens escorts in Athens, agency Athens Athens, services escort, New girls in Athens, escort services, Independent
Sometimes, the visions were of my fingers. She had to come home at some point in time, of course, and I still prayed that she wouldn’t say anything, even though a dark, secret part of me suddenly wished she would. I couldn’t believe that I even entertained that thought – this just needed to go away, and I needed to stop thinking such things about my sister. She said nothing to me that night of consequence, thank god, and in short order, the story I had written had found its way back into my drawer, as if nothing had happened. She must have snuck it back in when I was out of the house – in any case, nothing else had gone missing, and I never checked back in her drawer to see if she was writing anything of her own, nor did she ever say anything to me about it, thank god. I stopped writing that week, and with it, stopped masturbating so frequently. Every time I did, I thought of her, and the disturbing yet arousing concept was just too much for my mind to bear. Apparently, however, I was the only one who stopped their erotic literature habits, as one night a week later, I opened my desk drawer to find that same purple colored paper atop my neglected pile of fiction, my sister’s handwriting scrawled all over it. It was a new story, not the same one I had originally found, and apparently had been hand-delivered to my desk drawer, the paper smelling faintly of perfume. It was a crude story, by my lofty sixteen-year old standards, reminiscent of a Sweet Valley High novel with sex thrown in for good measure, but it was clear that she had written it for me, and meant for me to read it. If you guessed that my cock nearly jumped out of my pants and my thoughts once more turned to images of my hands running over her young body, you would be correct. When I managed to finish reading her erotic missive, and was basking in the afterglow of a particularly wonderful orgasm, I quickly began writing her a story in kind. After all, she deserved something for this brazen act, and a return piece of sexual fiction was the least I could do (especially since all the thoughts in my head were definitely things I could not do). The story, written so hastily, was crude but effective enough at re-arousing me, and finished before bedtime. I had assumed that she was downstairs watching television when I went to deliver it, but to my surprise, the door to her bedroom door was closed, her light shining on beneath it.Let the charming, sexy, and easy going Thessaloniki and Athens callgirls accompany you in your adventures right here in Greece. The escorts Girls In Greece are your perfect companion to almost anywhere. Whether you want to be with the female escorts Greec
My heart once more leaping into my throat, I considered the horrible breach of protocol before me. Would I dare slip this note under the door? Up to this point, these stories just magically appeared and disappeared – to brazenly slide a note under the door would be tantamount to actually admitting what was going on, and that may have been a taboo (not that anything else going on wasn’t). Deciding that fortune favors the bold, I slipped the note under the door, and bolted back to my room as quickly and as quietly as possible, lest she open the door and see my embarrassed face. Safely back in my room, I closed my door and caught my breath, practically gasping for air amidst all the naughty excitement in my body, cock ramrod hard in my pants. Her room and mine had an adjoining wall, and desperately wanting to know if she was reading my stored, I sat on the floor of my room and leaned my ear against the wall, hoping beyond hope that I could hear the pages of paper being flipped as she read. I must have listened really good that night, or have been blessed with supernatural hearing, for not only did I hear the telltale sound of paper being turned, but I could hear the soft sounds of a cooing girl’s voice, whimpers clearly belonging to my sister. My eyes grew wide as my brain put two and two together, and previous imagined images of her hands tucking fingers below the waistband of her panties sprang straight into my mind. I could hear her read, and I could hear her make plaintive moans, sounding to me as if she were gritting her teeth to keep from making any noise that would be loud enough to hear through her door (but clearly not through the wall). My heart pounded, and despite my raging hard on, I couldn’t move, lest I make too much noise and not hear my naughty neighbor, my sister, apparently pleasuring herself. Her end came quickly, as far as I could tell, a soft yelp, almost a cry that I swore I could hear down the hallway as well as through the wall, though I may have been imagining that. With no more sweet sounds coming through the wall, I quickly turned to taking care of my own business, burying my face in my pillow lest she overhear me as well as I stroked my dick to an outrageous and messy climax. The stories went back and forth faster after that, never more than a day or two before once of us would secretly gift the other with a piece of work. It was all as impersonal as it possibly could be, like a newspaper delivery service – nothing personal in the stories, and we certainly never spoke about it aloud. In fact, nothing even seemed horribly out of place, as we’d sit across each other at the dinner table. There were no lecherous looks, no sly winks, not a single obvious sign that anything odd was occurring, save for the occasional eavesdropped sounds of pleasure I overheard through the wall.hellas escor girls.gr
After a month of this madcap, taboo-laden erotica exchange, I was late in my schedule delivery.-
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