All Our Yesterdays

It was this post that reminded me.

I hadn’t thought of him in a long, long time even though we were ‘related’ for so many years.

He was my step-brother and he was beautiful.

Oh, don’t make it sound like that.

My mother remarried when I was 18 and he became her step-son. They didn’t get along very well. He was at the same age as me, only less mature. Boys just are at that age. They still have a long way to go before they reach emotional competence at 25.

But he was one of the most beautiful creatures that I have ever seen. He was into body building at a time when it was all the rage and I think he ‘took stuff’. I know he drank copious amounts of some kind of liver-flavoured tonic. His farts stank, but he was still gorgeous in that clean-cut, toned, shiney haired glorious youthfulness that young men have in their late teens.

Teetering on the brink of full masculinity, they are not yet hard and angular. They retain that soft edge which is heightened by the bloom of their luminous young skin.

But, of course, I’m remembering him now with my middle-aged mind. At the time, he too was not immune to my own charms. I was in a recovery stage with my anorexia. I had been thin but things were going better and I had regained my own youthful bloom and enviable figure.

I had fantastic tits! Firm, full and upstanding. I could wander around bra-less and they just stood to attention, perky nippled and proud. There was no way a pencil was ever going to get wedged under those beauties.

We didn’t see each other very often. They lived about 400 miles away up north and, usually, my mother would come down here to visit my Gran and we would see her then. Us kids resented her desperately. She’d buggered off and left us to fend for ourselves, whilst she took care of two kids the same age as us.

However, that didn’t stop us from going up there to visit occasionally and this was one of those times.

Because there were only three bedrooms, I was sleeping downstairs in the front room on a sofa bed. We’d been out to a family party and so alcohol was involved. Of course, I don’t blame the booze, but it certainly lifted my inhibitions and made me horny as hell.

Did I mention before that he was beautiful? Well, he was particularly stunning on this evening in tight denim jeans and an open necked shirt, untucked of course. But it did nothing to hide his great body. All firm and muscular in the right places with a great arse.

We spent a lot of the evening together, drinking, flirting, dancing in that outrageous hands-in-the-air round a handbag way that girls did in those days. It was fun and I was aware of something happening between us. Something chemical. Something that needs no words. It’s just a simple and unrelenting attraction that is only heightened with the addition of alcohol.

It was late when my step-father, his dad called the cab and got us all home. There was lots of giggling and laughing as intoxicated people tried to put keys into doorlocks and then remove clothing before falling incoherently into bed. It wasn’t long before soft snores punctuated the still night air.

But I was wide awake. I just couldn’t stop thinking about him lying there in the room above me. His bed directly over mine. I wondered if, as I was lying on my back looking up, he was face down thinking about me.

The more I thought about it, the more aroused I became. I could feel myself engorging and moistening and, rubbing my hand over my cunt through the thin fabric of my nightie, there was no doubting my excitement. I started to masturbate but it did no good.

I wanted the boy in the room above me. I needed strong arms around me and hard cock inside me.

It seemed like hours before I finally plucked up the courage.

Stepping resolutely out of bed, I crept up the stairs.

His door was slightly ajar, which was a relief because I knew that it creaked like hell whenever he opened it.

I slipped around the edge and pushed my way into the darkness of the unfamiliar room. I knew roughly where the bed was but I was terrified about what I was going to step on as I crossed the room.

He was a teenage boy. Who worked out. He was not the tidiest of people and so there were all sorts of hidden obstacles, like dumbells and bull workers, to traverse without stubbing my toe before I reached my goal.

I gingerly negotiated my way across the carpet, one careful step at a time with a careful, exploratory toe prefacing every few inches of progress.

That’s when the arm reached out and dragged me onto the bed.

I fell awkwardly but not enough to lose my composure or my gameplan.

As he tried to roll over onto me, I was too quick and twisted out of his grasp.

Straddling him and placing one hand over his mouth, I used the other to reach down into his groin. He was naked.

I wasn’t expecting that but, hey, I wasn’t about to complain if it meant I wasn’t going to have to fiddle about manoeuvring his boxers off him.

His cock was hot and hard as I grasped it firmly in my possessive fingers. This was what I had been thinking about for what seemed like forever as I had lain in the room below.

And then it became a blur. His hands reaching up and squeezing my breasts and the sigh that hissed against the palm of my hand as I took possession of his erection. Sliding myself down its firm length and experiencing the explosion of wetness as my cunt welcomed him.

He lay there. He didn’t move. He certainly didn’t thrust. He just waited to be taken.

So I did what any self-respecting Essex girl would have done. And I rode him. With economy of movement as the springs of the bed were vocal whenever I became too vigorous.

Softly and gently I eased myself up and down the length inside me until my insides contracted and he squirted hot, wet sludge against my cervix whilst, simultaneously, salivating all over my palm.

When our breathing had returned to normal and I felt his now retiring member recoiling out of my body, I laughed softly.

Removing my hand and pressing my lips against his, I whispered ‘thank you’ and was gone.

And, in the morning, we both looked shyly at each other across the breakfast table.

An unspoken fantasy that had fuelled two very satisfying climaxes, judging by the creaking of the ceiling above me that woke me up some time after the birds had started singing.

Originally posted 2010-02-13 06:08:38. Republished by Blog Post Promoter