Valerie was swinging away in her back yard on a swing her father made out of a car tire. Each breeze that came from swinging made her long golden hair fly everywhere. She wore her short little blue jean shorts and a whitetank top. She wore two small braids on each side of her face to keep her long hair from getting in her eyes. She was glad it was finally summertime. That meant no school, no homework, and no more waking up early.
It was extremely hot that summer day. It was still early in the day and her parents were at work, leaving her alone with her grandmother, who took care of Valerie and her brother Tommy while Mom and Dad were at work. Since Valerie was only 14 and Tommy 16, they didn't really need a guardian to watch them over the summer, but grandmother's presence gave their parents peace of mind. The siblings didn't mind though. They loved their grandmother and besides she cooked a lot better than their own mother.
When my dad survived Vietnam, the first thing he did when he returned was to propose to his girlfriend and begin a family in rural Mid-America.
Being true catholics, our parents' only way to prevent pregnancies was the rhythm method, and they had no rhythm!
Consequently, in five consecutive years, they had a girl, a girl, a boy, a girl, and a girl.
By then, and I'm sure the law of averages can't suddenly be suspended, the parents either acquired rhythm really well or they just defaulted to contraception. They HAD to - unless mom suddenly turned off the pussy from dad?
My name is Reese. My sisters, from the oldest on down, are: Lorraine, Marsha, Paula, and Kitty (Katherine).
My Uncle Dan is only ten years older than me. He is my mother's youngest brother. He babysat me many times when I was a young girl. One time when I was about eleven years old I had aggravated him so badly that he threatened to take me "over his knee for an old fashion bare bottom spanking."
I laughed at him saying. "You wouldn't dare!"
But he did dare. He pulled me onto his lap, pulling down my pajama bottoms, slapping my ass once hard. "I don't dare, do I?" He laughed as he pulled my little white panties down to my knees exposing my bare behind." I don't remember how many times he spanked my bottom but I do remember that it hurt me enough that I always listened to him after that. Just the threat of a spanking would make me obey him.
That was my first spanking. My parents never had never punished me that way. They usually scolded me and took away privileges. Uncle Dan never spanked me again while he babysat me but when he looked at me, his little smile on his handsome face, I knew he was thinking about that time I was over his lap with my bare bottom exposed to him.
When I turned 15, my mother sat me down and told me something that shocked me, "Your father did not die in an accident—he was murdered!"
I asked, "Who did it mom?"
"The police were unable to find a suspect, so it's what's called a cold case now, Ray," she said, "It's not likely to be solved unless someone already imprisoned tells a cellmate."
I practically screamed, "Why have you waited to tell me this?"
"I wanted you old enough to understand," was her ... explanation.
"Well I DON'T," I yelled, going to my room and slamming the door.
There was a knock and I said, "Go Away!"
"It's Susan, your sister," she said.
I wasn't mad at her ... yet, so I said, "Come in."
"Fucking morons!" Kirsten thought.
At the door to the chemistry room, two of her classmates Bill Taylor and Scott Vance, or Jackass #1 and Jackass #2 as she thought of them, were waiting as usual. The pair of morons partially blocked the class's doorway forcing all the girls entering to pass between them, giving the boys the opportunity to goose them or fondle them in some manner.
As Kirsten tried to enter Scott bumped into her side shoving her towards Bill who, on the pretext of helping her, reached out his hand and squeezed her breast. Anticipating this crude assault, Kirsten elbowed him in the stomach and for good measure kicked Jackass #2 in the ankle.
"Hands off pervert. Try that again and you'll be singing Soprano for the rest of your worthless life."
It started completely by accident.
I was walking from the garage through the kitchen and on my way to the bathroom and as I passed by my older sister Micah who happened to be bent over moving her clothes from the washer and into the dryer, for no reason at all and with no premeditation, I smacked her big ass. However, my hand didn't land on either cheek; it landed almost perfectly in the middle.
Micah emitted an 'Ooof' and as she was straightening up quickly, she bumped the back of her head on the upper rim of the dryer's door. She yelped with pain and it seemed to have stopped her from chasing after me.
I was cautious coming back from the bathroom to resume working on my bike in the garage. But, when I passed her again, she turned around quickly but didn't say anything. She only gave me a hurt look. I didn't give it much thought at the time and chalked my luck to the pain in her head which stopped her from retaliating.
I've always enjoyed family reunions, specifically when my older sister Jenny attended. See, we've been shameless lovers since she turned seventeen and I fifteen and lived in the same house. A couple of years later, she went to college and two years after that it was my turn to leave the nest. But we always 'got together' whenever we could, and the most time we got were during these frequent (thank god) family reunions.
The last time we were together, she surprised me by asking if I'd ever thought about mom in an unmotherly way.
Up until her question, I hadn't thought about it, but as soon as Jenny put that nasty thought in my mind, I started looking at mom in an entirely different manner. The next morning when our family gathered for breakfast, I couldn't help ogling mom.
What made things worse that morning was the fact that mom wore a robe that revealed more than enough of her abundant cleavage to give me a raging hard-on. During breakfest, she often caught me staring in her direction, and her look back seemed to say, 'I know what you want, are you crazy enough to do something about it?'