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Robyn learns the erotic arts from her brother and sister on her birthday.


It’s over two months since graduation. I’m done with that—finally!—and in a few more days it’s off to college I go. I didn’t like high school much, but there were some high points. Mr. Driscoll was one of them. He taught me Honors English for two years and became my mentor. He didn’t know he was my mentor for a long time. Finally he came around.

In junior year we read the classics so we’d know good writing when we saw it. Like 1984, Madam Bovary, some Shakespeare, Hemmingway, and Catcher in the Rye. I liked Catcher in the Rye a lot, especially the way Holden Caulfield wanted to protect his little sister Phoebe from the evils and assholes of the world. He wanted her to stay pure and innocent and never see any violence or obscene things like the F-word scribbled on walls. He wanted her pure and innocent while he lost his innocence all over the place.

Lolita was the last book we read that year. There was some controversy, and some of the Puritan moms and dads denied their kids permission to read it, so Mr. D had to offer them a substitute, but the rest of us read it. And loved it! Mr. D told us that just because literature is bawdy or erotic doesn’t mean it’s not good writing and not worth reading. I think after reading Lolita, that’s about the time I decided Mr. D. was my mentor.

Senior year Mr. D taught creative writing so that we’d know bad writing—our own—when we saw it. He was strict about grammar and sentence structure and style. You have to know the rules cold so you know exactly how and when to break them, he said. And I love breaking rules and writing run-on sentences beginning with And and ending with prepositions and using too many exclamation points! like this!

Break the rules, he said, but don’t look stupid doing it, like using to for too or your for you’re, or their for there, or effect for affect, when the effect of affect might spoil the effect of the writing. So there! their! and they’re!

This is something else Mr. D said: Be Bold! Be Outrageous! Be Passionate! I think that’s when I fell in love with Mr. D and began daydreaming about him and me in class. Longing dreams. Bold, Outrageous, Passionate dreams. And more that once I dreamed a nighty-night dream about him and me and his wife, which is really silly because not only do I not know his wife, I don’t even know if he has a wife. Nevertheless, there we were, she and I, standing side-by-side in front of a huge floor-to-ceiling wall-to-wall mirror admiring our cute little naked selves while this ominous presence that I somehow knew was Mr. D lurked in the darkness behind us, not so much seen as sensed. Wife D and I eyed each other in the mirror, and I was pleased that I compared favorably with this sexy, feline woman, my long flowing hair and brown eyes and nicely curved petite body contrasting nicely with her sensuous blonde hair, green eyes, and slinky shape. I thought, By damn, I’m a sexy, feline woman too. It’s true that her breasts were magnificently large and enticing, while my own were smaller, but undeniably plump, cute, and perky—and young enough to have room to grow. I hope.

It was an odd tableau in that dream. Maybe I got it from the nasty porn movie Sis I just walked in without realizing and plunked down in the easy chair while Sis drooled from the couch. I was surprised; I didn’t know she liked stuff like this. There were two girls and a guy in the flick. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t talk to her about it, but I also couldn’t tear myself away, either, like an approach-avoidance conflict. Do people really do things like this?

Although I love them dearly, my parents kept me on a tight lease, so I only got a chance to watch two other porn movies when I thought I could get away with it. It was a few weeks later when Sis was here for a weekend, then left and carelessly forgot some DVDs on her bedside table. Luckily I got to them before Mom and Dad. They were Domination/Submission flicks—or Dom/Sub in the vernacular, I think. Quite a revelation! And that made me wonder about Sis. Does she like this stuff?

Maybe that was the genesis of this little nighty-night dream I had of Mr. D, Wife D, and me. In the dream the unseen D in the shadows behind us smacks his wife’s bottom and she gives a startled little squeal, but she likes it, I can tell, and wants more. And I do too. I like the feeling that he’s in control and she submits, and I get all gooey inside and excited, thinking that maybe I’d like to submit too, maybe I’d like to be his little plaything, and I wait for a smack on my bottom any second now. And that’s when I wake up. Damn.

We had to write several essays for the class. For one of them he said, “Write about your personal bursa escort experiences and knowledge; involve the senses, be specific. Good writing is particular and immediate.” I put more than the usual amount of effort into that one and used a lot of showy 4-bit words like concupiscent, libidinous, salacious, and so forth. When I got it back there was a great big fat red “A” at the top of the space he always made us leave on the first page. I was so disappointed.

It was my first non-“A plus” in the class. His note had the usual praise, but at the end it said, “The circled words are pretentious & show-offy. Except for that, A plus.”

I was crushed. I wanted his praise and approval. I needed his steady hand to guide and even punish me when necessary. I wanted his discipline! I worked my tail off the rest of the year and got my A-pluses back and he acknowledged that he was my mentor. If he’d only known how much I wanted him to be a mentor in another aspect as well!

So now I’m done with high school, but here’s one more essay, a volunteer one for fun, Mr. D. Just one more for you. It’s about what I did for summer vacation. Call it “My Summer Vacation” if you please—so named in order to crash head-on into the rule against triteness. But I don’t think you’d consider the story trite, Mr. D. It’s first person present tense. Narrated and Point-of-Viewed by Robyn. I’ve broken the rules of grammar, style, and good taste, but I’ve obeyed all of yours: “Put in the senses. Be particular. Don’t be afraid to shock.” I’ve obeyed!

It’s about my education and how I did a lot of growing up and self-discovery this summer. I know a lot more now than I did just a couple of months ago.

I wish you could read it, but you never will.


My Summer Vacation


Robyn Ryder

My big sister Laura brushes and combs my hair in long strokes. It goes all the way to my butt now. Mom says I should cut it, but I like it long and brown and shiny. Dad disagrees. He says, “Leave her alone, Honey, she knows what she wants.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and Sis straddles me from behind. I like her warm legs around my hips and ankles against my thighs. I watch us both in the wall mirror. I don’t wear pigtails much anymore, but I loved it when she used to do mine, and I begged and begged her to do it just one more time!

She starts braiding. I feel her fingers collect strands, making three clumps on the right side, then weaving, weaving, weaving. She’s quiet this afternoon, something on her mind I guess.

I hear our big brother Keith whistling downstairs, some classical earworm he’s had for days.

“You are so cute in pigtails,” Sis says, “but it makes you look too young … like sweet fourteen. Good thing you’re not freckled or you’d look even younger.” The hair gets shorter as she weaves, but the ends will still be down past my shoulder blades.

Keith’s whistling gets louder. He passes by our door and waves as he walks by. He’s twenty-two, graduated college last year, and has a pretty good job as a software engineer. We both call him Big Brother, and he calls us Sis and Little Sis. Sis is twenty and just finished sophomore year at college. She wants to be a psychologist when she grows up.

I’m Robyn. My birthday is today, a week after finishing high school. Keith and Laura came home to see Mom and Dad off on their cruise with the Prestons yesterday and celebrate my birthday today. They’re extra special nice to me.

Sis finishes the first pigtail and ties it off with a pretty red ribbon in a bow. She starts the second.

“How do you know when it’s safe to have sex?” That just pops out of my mouth without any thought. Maybe I was thinking of you, Mr. D. Or maybe I’m just … well, just feeling sexy lately. Sometimes I get this way and can’t think of anything else for a few days at a time. I don’t seem to have any control over it.

Sis laughs and asks, “Are you contemplating having sex?”

I giggle. “It just popped out. Don’t know why. Well sometimes I have these … these, like yearnings. And they’re really strong. So strong, I can’t think about anything else. Anyhow, some day, when I do have sex, I’ll need to know so I won’t get … well … you know.”

She says, “Hmm. Well, if it’s just after your period or just before the next one, it’s probably ok. Or you could just take the pill.”

“I just finished my period.”

“So did I. I guess we’re synchronized sisters, huh?”

“That means I’m ok? I could have sex?”

She laughs again. “Slow down, Little Sis. You have anybody in mind?”

“No, no, but …”

“But?’ She prods me in the side with her finger.

“If I did have somebody in mind, I’d want him to be like our brother, he’s so cool, not to mention good looking and well-built. Don’t you think?” I’m lying. I didn’t tell her about you, bursa escort bayan Mr. D; Sis might think you’re a Perv, so I substituted our brother. I hadn’t even thought of him this way before but now … hmmm. But that would be incest, wouldn’t it? That would be wrong, wouldn’t it?

In the mirror I see a really strange expression flit across Sis’s face and then she blushes. She doesn’t blush often, but this is more than a run-of-the-mill blush. This is a queen-sized, extraordinary, Lulu of a blush—deep red and totally covering her face, even rising up and leaking across her forehead. She ducks down behind my head in the mirror to try to hide it from me, acting like she’s fumbling for something she dropped. Too late. I saw it. That’s when I begin to wonder.

I blurt again, “Have you had sex?”

“Maybe, maybe not. That’s a little too personal.”

“I bet you have!”

“Hold still! Let me tie this bow.” She finishes and puts her face beside mine. The blush has faded away. We smile at each other. “Cute, cute, cute,” she chants. “Both of us. Princesses! And you’re the prettiest Little Sis I’ve ever had.” She’s shifting the subject, and now she’s got this Mona Lisa smile on her face, but my thoughts churn while I try to figure out the meaning of that whopper of a blush. I entertain a notion, but it’s way, way out there, too far. But I wonder if I’ve ever really known Sis as well as I thought.

Later Big Brother and Sis and I celebrate my birthday after dinner with ice cream and a cake with eighteen candles, and then a few glasses of wine. Well, actually more than a few glasses—like a whole bottle and most of another! We get pretty mellow and giggly, me more than them since I’m still mostly a virgin with wine and liquor.

We all go to bed early, earlier than normal. Sis and I sleep together in the downstairs bedroom next to Mom and Dad’s room, while Keith takes Sis’s bedroom upstairs beside the one he used to use until it became too much of an office and store room when he left for college.

I wake up when Sis removes my arm from over her shoulder. I must have rolled and snuggled into her while asleep. I make like I’m still asleep, breathing deeply, as she gets out of bed and fumbles in the dark. I can tell she’s being real careful not to wake me. She’s not going to the bathroom; I think she’s looking for her bathrobe. I see the bedroom door crack open and let in some of the hallway nightlight as she slips quietly out. I look at the clock and see it’s still early in the night, only an hour after we crawled giggling into bed. She might not have gone to sleep at all, just lying awake until she was sure I was out of it. Something is going on.

I get out of bed and go to the door quickly and crack it open without making a sound. I see her walking away, down the hallway toward Mom and Dad’s bedroom. I close the door, put on my bathrobe, wait a minute, then crack the door again. Gone. Into Mom and Dad’s room.

Now it’s interesting! I have to know! I tiptoe down the hallway to our parents’ bedroom door. I press my ear against it. No sound. Nothing. I’m about to open it a little when I realize I’ll be silhouetted by the nightlight. I cross the hallway to turn it off, then come back to the door. Ever so slowly I turn the knob, hoping it doesn’t make a clicking noise. I ease the door open a half-inch.

There’s a night light in the room. I see the corner of the bed through the crack of the door but nobody seems to be in it. I let myself in quietly so I can peek stealthily around the corner of the door alcove, not having a clue what I’m looking for or what I’ll see.

Nothing! Nobody here. What happened? Didn’t she come in? Where else could she go? There’s no other door at this end of the hallway. Disappeared!

Then I notice the door near the corner of the room, the locked one, the one Dad always told us was his gun closet that we were never to go into. Never ever ever! I walk over and grasp the knob and turn.

Unlocked! I peer cautiously into the small space, and instead of seeing a gun rack or cabinet or safe or whatever it is that you put guns in, I see a descending spiral staircase. Staircase? In a closet? Going down from the ground level? Is there a basement in the house that I never knew about? A faint red glow comes from below. There’s a distant sound of music like with a 70s disco beat. Is this where she went? Is there any other place she could have gone?

With a tentative foot I take a tentative step downward. Downward into what? I go gingerly down one step at a time. I don’t know what’s at the bottom of this, so I’m thankful the steps don’t squeak or creak to give me away in case there’s some monster waiting at the bottom to pounce and rape me and suck out my virgin blood.

At the bottom there’s a closed door. Red light oozes beneath it. The Disco music is stronger escort bursa now with a heavy rhythmical bass beat—simple, primitive, exotic. I’m about to try the knob, but first, off to the left is a small space like a long, narrow walk-in closet. Dark. It has a window into the room on the other side of the door, with the same dim, diffuse red light seeping through from the other side. I think I’ll check that out first. I walk softly and carefully to the window and look through into the room beyond.

Oh my god! There’s a big four-poster bed in there, twice as large as a king-size. It’s enormous! You could play a football game on it! And there are a couple of large, comfortable stuffed chairs nearby. But the thing that gets my immediate attention—my overwhelming attention by far—is that one of those chairs is close to the window, facing directly into it, and …

Oh! My! God! Big Brother and Sis are in it. Together. Cuddling. Smooching. Four feet away! I jerk back, more like recoiling, and my legs hit something behind and my knees give way and I fall backwards, hard, onto a couch facing the window. Normally I’d let out an ear-piercing squeal, but I suppress it somehow.

Big Brother and Sis don’t notice, they’re too wrapped up in each other. Wrapped up is way too mild! Smooching or making out is too mild! They’re kissing the way brothers and sisters should never kiss, wide open slobbery lips melting into each other and tongues working in and out and around and around. Frenching is way too mild a word. They’re going at it, an obscene sex act with their mouths, and their hands are all over each other. The only redeeming thing is that their bathrobes are on.

Then they stop kissing and smile big smiles at each other, and turn their heads to smile directly at me! Ohmygawd! They see me! They know I’m here!

And then they look back at each other and resume that obscene kissing without skipping a beat as if I don’t even exist. How could they be so shameless! How could they not at least be startled that Little Sis sees their nasty actions?

As I ponder this, I scan the large room and see big mirrors on the walls. And there’s another suspended above the bed where a canopy would be. And there’s indirect lighting on the ceiling. That’s where the soft red light comes from. And there are strange contraptions scattered around the room. Things that look like exercise equipment, except mostly leather and wood and cloth instead of metal.

This happens in just a second or two while I wonder why Brother and Sis don’t react to me. I look back toward the bed, and in the mirror on the wall beyond it I see—reflected—another mirror, and reflected in that, another mirror, and so on … Then it hits me. That first reflected mirror is the one I’m behind! This isn’t a window! It’s a one-way mirror! Big Brother and Sis weren’t smiling at me! They were smiling at themselves! They don’t even know I’m here.

Only a few seconds have passed since I tripped and slouched back on that couch. I relax a tiny little bit and think.

Those contraptions. They’re for sex! A wood box with a split seat … there’s a dildo sticking up out of the box beneath the seat, and a woman slides forwards and backwards in that seat, pulling and pushing on the handlebars and stirrups, and the dildo goes up and down, sliding in and out. And there’s a hammock—she gets into it on her back, hips at the edge, and he straps her in so her legs are pulled back and her arms are restrained so that she’s helpless and he can do anything he wants … well, and so on. And there’s another box with a rod coming out of it with a dildo at the end, hanging over a reclining seat with stirrups she can put her feet in and somebody flips a switch on the box and that dildo starts … well, you know.

And the couches are for watching, and the big chairs are for doing what Big Brother and Sis are doing right now, and the tiny room I’m sitting in is for couples to sit unseen and watch other couples doing the nasty in that big room.

This is a sex dungeon! Or gymnasium. In our house! And that leads to a single logical conclusion …

Our parents are swingers! And they invite their friends to play down here in this secret room. No wonder the Prestons are here so much. No wonder they have so many other couples visit and spend nights. They’re all swingers! I have a fleeting vision of my mother doing it with another man, and my dad, another woman. Disgusting!

I mull this over, wondering if I should hate my parents because they’ve been so strict with me about dating while they’ve been fooling around down here all the while I was growing up. Gun closet? Bullshit! I mull this over while Big Brother and Sis kiss and run their hands all over each other.

This is horrible! How can they do this? Should I storm in and confront them? “What are you doing? We’re brothers and sisters. This is incest!” Or should I quietly tip-toe up the stairs again, go back to my room and try to go back to sleep and forget this all happened? Yeah, right! That should be easy to put out of mind.

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