Jenny Marie Jenkins felt that her life was finally starting to look up. Her husband had finally opened his own architectural business and was on the edge of taking off. She had worked so many long hours grading papers, making out lesson plans and paying for class supplies the school didn't have money for, that she was really getting sick of teaching her high school classes. She had spent her summers working on her master's just to be able to keep her teaching certificate.
All this time, her husband had been working for one of the best firms in New York for almost no credit. He had constantly designed award winning designs that his boss had won numerous prizes for. Finally, in a fit of anger and frustration, he had quit in order to open his own office.
Office space in New York was draining Jenny's account. If not for her modest inheritance from her parents, it would have been impossible; but she believed in her husband and had gone all out to help. Joe had done a number of very small commissions that barely broke even when they were done. Never-the-less, he had won some recognition for the design of several small homes. He just never got the big enough break that would set them on easy street.
Jenny's inheritance was just about gone. The bills for engineering on the last project were coming due. The landlord was giving Joe several letters that their rent was way past due.
Joe had called her to say that he was meeting a client for dinner and he was hoping that she could join them. The news was not new. He had brought the subject up a number of times. Jenny was willing to do whatever it would take for Joe's success, but did not know enough about architecture to be of much help.
When I got home late saturday night, Mom was sitting at the kitchen table.
"Geez, Mom I'm 22 years old now, you know you don't have to wait up for me."
"I know," she said. "I went to bed, but I had trouble sleeping. I couldn't relax for some reason."
Judging from the half empty bottle of scotch in front of her, she was probably good and relaxed now. Mom was 41 years old but still quite attractive. She had put on a few pounds but not much. Her ass was a little bit bigger than it used to be, but then again so were her tits. I would often catch my friends checking her out when they thought I wasn't looking.
It is unfortunate that more boys don't have a big sister like I had to help them through puberty. I mean that's a tough time for everyone. But I had my sister and am I ever grateful I did.
We have always been close even though she is three years older than me. There were some rough times in our relationship when she was between 12 and 14 but even then, I sensed that she really would come through in a pinch, if it came to that. So by the time I was 12 and beginning to grow in all sorts of ways that I hadn't expected, Jo was there to help out.
You see, Jo had a way of getting me to talk about whatever was troubling me. Even when I felt embarrassed, she would be able to throw her arm around me and after beating around the bush, I would finally tell her the problem. What made it impossible for me to hide anything from her was that she was always so open with me. She would not only tell me everything that was bothering her but she also seemed to have absolutely no modesty around me. I mean, I was in her room once talking about some of the things happening around school when she began changing her clothes. I was certainly aware this was just my sister but I was also aware that most of my friends would have given anything to witness the show I got during the next few minutes. Keeping up her side of the conversation, she proceeded to strip down to her bra and panties. I had seen her this way many times so I wasn't particularly shocked. But she continued to undress, slipping off her bra and tossing it on the bed.
"Come on in." I greeted my niece and nephew, "I've just put the kettle on, and you go and unpack while I make us all a cup of tea."
"Coffee for me please." Martin grinned.
"And me." Tina added.
"Coffee it is then." I replied.
Martin and Tina took their bags upstairs while I headed for the kitchen to make the coffee. As I waited for the coffee to percolate I wondered what the kids and I could do for the next two weeks that they would be visiting me; I had the same problem every year, what to do. Mind you I had always enjoyed the annual two-week visit of my big sister's kids, especially after my own marriage had broken up; they had cheered me up no end. Martin had now turned nineteen, his sister was eighteen, and growing more beautiful each time I saw her.
What I liked most about the kids was that they seemed to think nothing of the age gap between us, their attitude made me feel like a twenty year old instead of a woman of thirty-eight. The kettle clicked off and I busied myself with making coffee, I could hear the kids moving about upstairs and took the steaming cups into the living room with a smile on my face. A few minutes later they came into the living room; for some reason Tina's face seemed a little flushed and I hoped that she was not coming down with a cold.
Miss Moore was my home room teacher in the seventh grade, and she also taught English. She was twenty eight years old and was unmarried, although I'm sure that she had received many proposals, because she was slender and beautiful. She had dark hair, and at school she always dressed conservatively. Still, one could see her bare calves and lower arms, which were so perfectly shaped that one could imagine, as I did, that she was perfect all over. She had modest breasts, and when she wore a jacket over her blouse, one could not detect any sign of them. Her face was so pretty, so lovely, yet one could discern strength in it. She knew what teaching was all about, and she was devoted to her job, her profession. Miss Moore did not tolerate any disorder or horse play in her classroom. Usually her stern demeanor was sufficient to maintain order. But when a situation got out of hand, she could be subtly, yet effectively punishing. Once, when I repeatedly disrupted the class with stupid observations about what we were studying, Miss Moore came over to me, placed her hand on my head and told me gently to calm down and to behave. What my classmates didn't know was that she pulled on my hair with her fingers and caused me a great deal of pain.
When I was half way through the seventh grade, I masturbated for the first time. I was then twelve, going on thirteen. We all remember that first time. For me it was unintended. I lay in the bathtub and played with my cock, soaping it and pulling on it with my fingers. It felt so good doing that. I continued until my little pecker erupted with a sting and enormous pleasure. I cried out in surprise, which caused my mom to bang on the bathroom door and inquire if there were a problem. I yelled that I had burned myself with the hot water. I knew about jacking off. Half of the guys in my class were doing it and talking about it. I sat in the tepid water and looked at the white globules of my semen floating in front of me. I washed out the tub after the bath, destroying any evidence of my sin.