A Normal Girl

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

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Warnings: This is a first-time story, and it has an incest overlay, with a group sex component, and some bisexuality. The dominant theme though, perhaps, is someone watching, so I put it in the voyeur rubric. There's no rubric for neurotic sex, or I could have placed it there.

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I'm a normal girl. I did well in high school (except, of course, for AP History, which personally I consider to be a highly effective soporific), and I got into a decent college. At the end of my freshman year I had done well in every subject, except for one: Men.

Here I was, 19 going on 20, and not only was I still a virgin, I had never even been kissed. I wasn't overly worried; all women found some man eventually. That's why there were so many people, and in particular so many babies, in the world. By analogy, I didn't want to be like the friends of my parents who used to brag that their little Gregory was reading at age four.

"So what?" my father used to say. "Let's wait until little Gregory does something everyone doesn't eventually do. Otherwise, all you're talking about is timing. What's the rush?"

I always thought those were wise words, and I still do. Now, however, the subject was sex, and I was bleeping tired of waiting to find out what sex was all about. I had exhausted my patience. Despite my father's wise words, I was in a rush to learn.

I was convinced sex was wonderful, since ALL OF MY FRIENDS talked about sex nonstop. I just listened, never having anything to contribute to the conversation. I was frustrated and - quite frankly - annoyed.

Let me make clear from the outset that there's nothing wrong with me. I'm normal. I'm average weight, maybe a tad on the thin side. I'm average height, maybe a tad short. I have a normal figure for a girl my age, although maybe my boobs are a tad big. I'm just being honest here: All of these 'tads' are really just tads. I have, personally, a good body for some guy to exploit. They just don't.

I do have an hourglass figure, and I often dress to emphasize my tiny waist and generous hips. My usual vehicle is skin tight 'skinny jeans' that fit my curves wonderfully. I often wear push-up bras and blouses that show a little cleavage, too. On rare occasions I wear my special outfit that shows quite a lot of cleavage. For what it's worth, I have blonde hair and blue eyes. I wear colored contacts, so sometimes my eyes are blue, and other times they're a deep, seductive, green. I do try to look attractive.

Oh yes, my face. My face could be a problem, I understand that, but quite honestly, I don't think so. My face resembles the face of Kate Middleton. Everyone says so. Also, my teeth are white and straight. So, what's the problem? I figured I was somehow, without realizing it, giving out the wrong signs, the wrong signals if you will, as if I were a stuck-up bitch, or something.

I was home from college for the summer, and my parents were away for a long weekend, so my older brother and I had the house to ourselves. My brother was in town for a few weeks, and I figured he'd have the male perspective. He was flabbergasted when I told him that not even a single boy had yet tried to kiss me. Ever.

"And if one were to kiss me," I added, "I wouldn't know how to kiss him back. I'd have to fake it, and unless I were lucky, it would be a disaster."

My brother Jeff just shook his head, expressing incredulity. I let the bomb drop.

"Jeff, do you have a friend in town, one who's kind and gentle, who could teach me to kiss?" I asked.

"Just kiss? You don't want more?" Jeff replied.

"I'd love more. A passionate make-out session might be lots of fun, but I wouldn't want to impose," I said. "Maybe he could even teach me to French kiss?"

"Christina, you're gorgeous. Any man in his right mind would love to kiss you. He'd probably also love to do a lot more if you're willing," Jeff said. The way Jeff said 'a lot more,' made me nervous. It doesn't take much, however, to make me nervous. I'm an anxious person by nature.

"I'm sure men are not that superficial. Thanks for calling me gorgeous, but men kiss the woman, not the image of one," I replied.

"I'm sure that's true for some men, maybe even for most men. Think of it this way, though. Men like their egos stroked. If a pretty woman submits to them, it makes them feel macho, like a success," Jeff said. "Why do you think rich men often want pretty, young, bimbos on their arms? It's an image thing."

"Or a midlife crisis kind of thing?" I was troubled by Jeff's use of the word submissive. I wondered what he meant? Jeff just smiled, so I continued. "You know, old men trying to recapture their youth with a pretty young thing on their arm?"

Jeff was a hunk. He was tall and slim, but muscular everywhere. His hair was rich and luscious, and his face was chiseled. He could have been a male model were it not for his mouth. His mouth always had a little twist to it, which seriously detracted from an otherwise gorgeous man.

"Maybe you could coach me first, and be there too, for security?" I asked. I was finding that I was very nervous about this whole idea, even if was my own idea!

"How far would you let him go?" Jeff asked.

"Well it depends, I guess, on whether or not I like the guy. Assuming I do, he could go far, even very far. Wait; what do you mean by 'far'? We're only talking kissing here, right?"

Jeff looked at me. It was a complex look, one that someone like me could read any of several different ways. I decided to go the submissive route, and see how that worked out.

"Very, very, far, as long as you're there, too, okay? I'll feel safer with you there." I knew no man would dare try anything too risqué with my brother right there, and watching! That is, unless the man was as weird as I seemed to be...but my brother would stop it, of course. Or course he would: No self-respecting brother is going to let another guy molest his little sister right in front of him! I would be safe.

"Do you remember my friend George?" Jeff asked.

"He'd be perfect," I replied. I had seen George recently. He had been Jeff's best friend since forever, but now he was a grown man. He had a runner's body, ninety percent lung, without an ounce of fat, and lots of muscle. He seemed to always have a two-day growth of beard. I wondered how he managed that? He seemed respectful of women, and he had always been nice to me, even when I was an annoying tomboy in the days of yesteryear.

Jeff made a call. "George is excited. Is tomorrow okay?" OMG, I got very nervous! I knew George well, since he was one of Jeff's best friends, and he was often around as we grew up. In fact, now that Jeff had a crush on Mandy, I often saw the three of them hanging out together. Three good friends ; that was all that they were, just friends, right?

What's wrong with me? These days my mind really does run in the gutter. I instantly thought of Mandy enjoying herself with the two men. I got a little wet thinking about it. Boy, did I need sex!

"Sure, but can you give me some hints, first?" I asked. "I don't want to look like a dork, or a deer in the headlights."

"Come with me, my little virgin," Jeff said, and I giggled as I followed him. He led me to the living room. My parents' living room was the prettiest room of the house. It had a masonry fireplace and comfortable furniture including a fantastic and super cushy couch. An upright piano stood against the far wall. I had spent many an after-school hour practicing at that very piano.

The room was kept obsessively clean, and it had a big picture window looking over the driveway and at our garden beyond. At the right time of day, the picture window flooded the room with sunlight.

"Let's first discuss what you'll wear," Jeff said.

"Does that matter? I was thinking a light sweater and jeans," I said. "Nothing that covers my mouth, don't worry," and I giggled at my own joke. "Unless of course Jeff is into that? I could borrow a niqab?"

"Are you planning to wear a bra?" Jeff asked, ignoring my offensive remarks, meant in jest.

"Of course!" I said, and I looked at him as if he had just landed from Mars. Jeff returned the look. "I'm not a tramp, Jeff!"

"Tomorrow, you're going to look like one, if you think that's what a tramp looks like. No bra, okay?"

"Uhh...doesn't that send the wrong message? I'm not some kind of slut, you know. I'm your bleeping sister!"

"It will send a message to George that you are putting away childish things," Jeff said.

"Corinthians, right? Is a bra a childish thing? I shouldn't think so!" I said.

"Don't be so literal. It's your attitude that you should put away," he replied.

"You and Mom; always wanting me to put away things. What do you want? You want your sister, your very own sister, suddenly to become some kind of sexual submissive for your friend George? Is that what you want?" I said, showing my annoyance in my voice.

I began to wonder if Jess suspected that I had submissive tendencies? Do I? So far, no boy had ever seemed to want to find out. Maybe my submission existed only in my sexual fantasies and in the romance novels I liked to read?

"That would be highly effective with George, no question. Keep your cool, though, Christina," Jeff said, and then as if to underscore the point, he said, in a voice that sounded like my father when he's angry, "Take off your bra. Now."

Something deep inside my brain flipped. Suddenly, I was into this. After all, we were only talking about kissing. What harm could come from my obeying Jeff's orders? Probably only good things would come out of it. George was both smart and experienced; no doubt Jeff knew what he was doing. Also, he loved me, and he wanted only the best for me, I was sure. I acquiesced.

"Okay, turn around Jeff," I said.

"Why? Take off your bra through your sleeve," he said.

I sighed in exasperation, but after a few mild contortions, I slipped my bra off through my sleeve. "Happy, now?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"We're getting there. Go put on a blouse that buttons, and lose the jeans. Wear a skirt, preferably short, and sexy panties, if you have any," he said.

"I don't have a blouse that buttons. My blouses go on and off over my head," I replied.

"Do you have a scoop necked blouse?" Jeff asked.

"You really have a breast fetish, don't you, Jeff?" I asked.

"Look, George might try to steal a little feel while he kisses you. It's natural. We're just making it a tad easier, okay?" Jeff said.

"This began as kissing. Now George is going to be feeling me up?" I said.

"Are you really nineteen? You're acting like you're fifteen, you know, or maybe like you're twelve," Jeff said. He was beginning to get frustrated. That remark stung.

I glared at Jeff and stomped upstairs, off to my room. Once I returned, 'properly attired,' Jeff began his instructions. I didn't tell Jeff but I had sexy underwear galore. I have a theory: The more sexually frustrated a girl is, the more she compensates with sexy lingerie. Of course, this theory is generalized from myself!

"Be passive. Let George do whatever he wants and don't show any resistance. Give his hands free reign, and if he wants to undress you, you should let him," Jeff instructed once I had returned without a bra, my shortest skirt, a deeply scooped neck blouse, and super sexy lace panties.

"What? Are you nuts? Surely people can kiss while fully dressed!"

"Not with George," he said, and he offered no explanation.

"Maybe then another of your friends might be a better choice, okay? All I want to learn is how to kiss. I already know how to undress. I do it at least once a day," I said.

"No, George is perfect, just relax, Christina," Jeff replied. Deciding, apparently, it was a fait accompli , Jeff continued, "Now, show no resistance. In addition, make some approving sounds and whatever you do, don't worry if others hear you. Men like knowing that they're pleasing you, and if others can tell too, it just makes them feel macho. They like that, okay?" Jeff explained.

"Okay," I replied, my nervousness showing. How on earth was I supposed to moan or whatever, without it sounding fake? Even if it wasn't fake, and I was sure it would be fake, I was also sure it would sound fake. "I just don't like the idea of George undressing me, especially if I'm not wearing a bra!"

"All you need to do is to say 'No,' or 'Stop' and George will stop. It's all up to you. So, there's nothing to worry about. You're in charge as to how proper you want things to be," Jeff said.

I cringed when Jeff said 'proper.' Wasn't my being proper all the time part of the problem? Was there anything, anything at all, that I couldn't worry about? Now I was even worrying that I was worrying too much. Who needs meta-worrying?

"Jeff?"

"Yes?"

"Can you give me a quick lesson on kissing?" I asked. "Now?"

"I'd have to kiss you to do that, Christina," he said.

"I know, and I'm your sister and all that implies, and I understand if it grosses you out; but if you're willing, I'd like that," I said.

"Even though I'm your brother?" Jeff asked, redundantly pointing out the obvious.

"Yes, you moron, I just said that! Anyway, I'd like a kiss, especially from you. I'd love to learn to kiss from you, I mean, just a little," I said. It was true, too. "George can finish the lesson."

Jeff came over to me. He didn't say a word. He locked his eyes with mine, and he looked into my eyes for what seemed to me like forever. I was sure he was considering what we were about to do. I was really hoping he wasn't sick to his stomach over the idea of kissing me and was willing himself to ignore that fact. I know, I know: I worry too much. I overthink things. I'm neurotic, okay?

Jeff put my head between his hands, and gently held it in place. Then he lightly kissed me on the mouth. Our lips met, and we silently kissed.

I was excited beyond belief. I had suddenly and finally been kissed!! Not only was I kissed by a guy, but by the most handsome, the most wonderful, and the most special man on Earth! Then Jeff kissed me again! When he kissed me a third time, I was beginning to feel tingles down below, and suddenly I remembered his advice about making noises.

My mind was rocketing through a lifetime of memories of me and Jeff. He was always my older brother, my protector, my instructor, my friend, my best friend. He was everything. Him kissing me felt natural, welcome, and just the way things should be.

During the fourth kiss I managed a pathetically soft "mmmm." Then Jeff surprised me, and he opened his lips. I knew about French kissing; all my friends in high school had talked about it nonstop. In college, we girls discussed other things, such as the taste of a man's cock, and his spunk; discussing kissing was quite passé. I felt like such an ignoramus since I had to secretly do a google search to learn that spunk meant a man's seminal fluid. I was way too innocent, and innocence begets ignorance.

I opened my lips, too, and we kissed with both of us having our lips open. On the fifth kiss, Jeff's tongue entered my mouth, and it played around with my tongue. That really turned me on! I made a louder "Mmmm," to indicate I really liked it.

Jeff's hands stopped holding my head in place, and I tilted my head to get a slightly better angle. Jeff then surprised me when - while still kissing me - he pulled my blouse out from my skirt and his hands promptly went under it, stroking the flesh of my (smooth, flat, and taut) tummy. Now I was terrified. This was going way beyond kissing! I remembered, though, to be passively accepting. I trusted my brother. Stop worrying, I told myself for the one thousandth time.

When Jeff's hands reached my boobs and began to play with my nipples, it felt beyond wonderful. I let him play with my tits for around a minute or two or three or four or five, before I pulled away. He is my brother, after all!

"That was a wonderful lesson on kissing, Jeff. You're the best brother a girl could have. I'm ready for George now, but you'll stay here, for security, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Jeff said. "You're an amazingly fast learner, Christina. You're a natural. No worries."

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The next morning, I took a long bath to prepare. I used my mother's perfumed creams, and I made sure I was shaved as smooth as a baby's bottom. I dried off and went to my bedroom to dress. I automatically put on my favorite bra and panties set. I picked out a sexy, low cut, scoop necked blouse that buttoned, but also showed off my cleavage. I donned my shortest skirt.

I finally remembered. I removed my sexy blouse that showed off my cleavage in such a lovely manner, and also my slightly push-up bra that was responsible for the cleavage effect. Then I put my blouse back on but without the bra. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror on my closet door. I tried to smile but my smiles looked fake. Then I checked out my bosom. I knew if I leaned forward I'd get a nice view of my bra covered boobs, but now? There was no bra.

I timidly leaned forward while looking in the mirror. Holy shit! I was practically showing off my entire boobs! This would not do! Were my nipples visible? Look carefully, Christina, I told myself. No, thank goodness. I could see everything else, including much of my areolas, but my nipples pushed against my blouse and could not easily be seen if I leaned forward. Well, you take whatever little victories life presents you, anyway, right?

I heard the doorbell. That would be George. He was here! I suddenly desperately needed to pee. Deep breaths, girl! You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. Jeff will be right there, right? All your friends have already slept with one man, many of them twice over, and of course there's the slut of sluts Mary, and God alone knows how many men have enjoyed her body! All I'm doing, for Pete's sake, is trying out a little kissing! Get a grip!

Jeff called up to me and I took a few more deep breaths and headed downstairs. Jeff told me later I looked like a vision coming down the stairs. 'Good enough to eat,' I think he said. I never did understand that phrase. A misplaced food metaphor, I supposed. Who thinks about misplaced metaphors while descending a staircase to her doom? College was having its effect.

Nude descending a staircase. I had just learned about that famous 1912 painting of Marcel Duchamp. That's what I felt like. Even though I was dressed, I felt like a nude descending a staircase to my doom, cubist and all! I felt too exposed. I felt like a shameless hussy about to face the executioner for the mortal sin of promiscuous kissing. Right.

"Hello, George; nice to see you again. Good morning, Jeff," I said.

George had a smile that cats have, just before they eat the canary. I began to think of myself as a tasty morsel to be devoured by a modern-day Grendel, who had just changed his name to George. But he was Grendel, alright, no question about it. That would make Jeff Beowulf, I guess, so I was safe, right?

"Good morning, Christina. You look lovely this fine morning," George said, even though it was pouring rain outside. Okay, maybe Grendel was a bit harsh. After all, Grendel was a woman-eating demon, described as "a creature of darkness, exiled from happiness and accursed of God, the destroyer and devourer of our human kind." All he was going to do was kiss me, right?

"Thank you," I said to Grendel, and we all three stood there, awkwardly. It's the role of the woman to fill the conversational void, so I added, "May I get you something? A soda, a glass of wine, some whiskey, perhaps? Humankind to devour?" Oh shit; that last just kind of slipped out, now, didn't it?