The Tabatha Diaries – Chapter 2

Family Incest stories: The Tabatha Diaries – Chapter 2

by Andy Hall

Fiction, Exhibitionism, Incest, Masturbation, Teen Male/Teen Female

Most of what I’m about to tell you actually happened. But I believe that truth, diluted with even the smallest amount of fiction, is fiction. The irony is that many of you will want to doubt the truth and believe the fiction.

There was a time in my teens when I seemed to be more or less permanently erect. I would wake up with a morning erection that was often painfully hard. All through the day I seemed to be hiding it, trying to get rid of it or in the process of getting another one. The sight of a girl made me hard. The thought of a girl made me hard. It was a kind of pleasurable torture that I endured and sometimes enjoyed, despite the lack of relief. The wet dreams were far too infrequent. More often than not, I woke up before the climax and was left more frustrated than ever.

Like many teenage boys, I fell prey to marketers of body building products. My scrawny body was the “before” shot and I wanted the “after” body, with ripped abs and a classic V chest like Superman. I saved my pocket money and bought a “Power Bender”, which was like a thick set of bicycle handlebars with a coiled spring in the middle. At first I couldn’t even bend it once, never mind in three reps of 15 like the instructions said to do every day. I went back to doing push ups, but lifting my puny body was not bulking up my biceps to any noticeable extent.

Our back garden had a Hill’s Hoist – that famous Australian invention, the rotary clothes line. It was designed for hanging a few kilograms of wet washing, not a 50 kilo teenager. But I found that by hanging from one of the rotary arms and doing chin ups, my upper arm muscles finally started to develop. What’s more, if I curled my legs up in crunches at the top of each chin up, I could rip a six pack at the same time.

It was very punishing, but stimulating. (I saw a documentary recently about Arnie Schwarzenegger and he compared the hormonal rush of weightlifting to orgasm. I know what he means.) I enhanced the stimulating effects of the exercise by doing it in my navy-blue underpants when no one was around. (This was my cheating way of masturbating without touching myself.)

One day I was pushing myself to do some arbitrary number of chin ups (30, 40, 50, I can’t remember) and on the last one I held the crunch as long as I could. My abdominal muscles began to spasm with the strain. The elastic on my navy briefs was shot and my erection poked out easily from underneath. Something felt very, very good about this crunch and I continued to hold it. My arms quivered, my pecs quivered, my abs quivered and my cock quivered. Clear pre-cum oozed from the bulging eye of my erection which, in this position, was less than 12 inches from my face. Then there was a spasm I’d never felt before and thick white cum flowed out of the end of my cock. I was lucky it didn’t spurt or I would have given myself a facial. This was my first experience of an orgasm (outside of a wet dream). I remember being awed by it and thinking “I’m a man. I could be a father.”

The circumstances of my first orgasm are very odd and I’ve never heard of any guy having a similar experience. It is not easy to replicate. I did try a few times and I did succeed, but only once. Soon after that, my weight broke the clothes line and Mum banned me from doing chin ups on it. It was no big loss. Triggering an orgasm in that way was not as pleasurable as wanking.

The navy-blue jocks acquired a special status after that. At night in the summer, I would go for a midnight swim in my jocks, after my Mum and sister had gone to bed. It felt good to swim with an erection. The water sometimes dragged my pants “off the hook” so that my erection would be free in the water. It was a tantalising game. At that stage I considered skinny dipping to be too outrageous, but if my bathers “accidentally” slipped off, then that was OK. It was a strange logic.

Out of the water, I would walk up the path at the side of the house, stand naked and erect in the breeze and let the warm air dry my skin. I was very proud of the size of my erection. It looked impressive to me and I fantasised about being a male stripper and showing it off to girls. I wanted to be naked and erect for ever and to spurt fountains of cum without touching myself and to be admired by girls for being beautiful and hard and big and spectacularly fertile. It was a strange narcissistic, extroverted, exhibitionist fantasy for a teenage boy who was otherwise painfully shy and introverted.

Mum and Tabatha’s bedrooms were at the front of the house and, in my naivety, I assumed that my back-yard romps in the middle of the night would go unnoticed. But one night, after I had just slipped quietly into the pool, I was startled to hear the back door closing behind me. When I turned around, Tabatha was coming down the garden. It was difficult to see on this moonless night, but as she got closer I realised she was wrapped in a towel.

“What are you doing, sneaking around in the dark?” she whispered as she came up to the edge of the pool.

“Just having a swim.”

“Skinny dipping, more likely,” she sneered. It was too close to the truth for me to pull off a plausible denial. My silence was telling. “It’s alright, little brother, I won’t dob on ya . . . if you don’t dob on me. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Now turn around while I get in.” I turned around. I heard a little plop as Tabatha stepped off the bottom stair into the water and then there was the sound of gentle wash against the tiles as she started to swim. I turned back to watch her. She kept her distance in a show of sisterly modesty.

I had a range of mixed feelings. I was hard, as usual, when I got in the pool. But the fright of being caught by Tabatha had given me an instant soft on. Now she was naked in the pool with me, but I was wearing my jocks and I felt like a fraud. And besides, she was my sister. Mum had a photo of us in the bath together as kids and this had the same non-sexual vibe about it.

I was still a bit ashamed of my dreams. I wasn’t ready to embrace my sister as my sexual fantasy.

As I thought these thoughts and watched her, she swam back to the stairs at the far end of the pool and slowly climbed out of the water. My heart started hammering as her bare back rose from the water, with rivulets of water draining off her ivory shoulders. The sight of a bare back and the knowledge that there were bare breasts on the other side of it was enough to get me going in those days. Her white skin seemed to glow in the darkness. In a single motion her ass erupted from the water like an upside down heart as she reached for her towel and flung it round herself. Before I had time to process the fleeting image of her nakedness, it was gone. And yet I was now painfully erect again.

I watched the edge of the towel dance provocatively about the tops of her legs as she walked away. She went all the way back up to the house without looking back or saying a word. It was as if she wanted to leave me only with that fleeting image.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, praying for the strength to resist temptation, I couldn’t help but think that Tabatha deliberately flashed her naked body for me to see. If not deliberately, then recklessly. Did she know that her body excited me? Did she want me to see her? Or did she think that in the dark and with her speed, I wouldn’t see anything?

I allowed myself to spread leaking precum all over my shaft, rather than let it stain the sheets. I reasoned that I wasn’t really masturbating, it was just basic hygiene, really. And cleanliness is next to Godliness. But there is only so much cleaning a shaft can bear before it starts squirting today’s load, and yesterday’s load, and the day before. In my mind I squirted that big heavy load all over my sister’s fucking gorgeous wet arse. “Unnnhhhh!”

I felt guilty afterwards, but I slept well that night.

Not long after that night, my Mum invited our neighbours in for a swim on a hot Sunday afternoon. Alf and Barbara were English. They were older than Mum and they had grown-up kids. They’d known us since we were little and we called them “Uncle Alf and Aunty Barbara”, even though they weren’t our real aunty and uncle. Alf was a dirty old man who kissed my Mum a little too enthusiastically when they met and patted her on the bum. She hated that, but he was an invaluable handy man for a single mum and he was kind hearted and generous and good company in every other respect, so she forgave him his wandering hand.

I don’t think Barbara ever did.

Tabatha and I were splashing around in the water while the adults sat by the pool drinking and talking. I was standing in the shallower end, where the water was just above waist deep. My goggles had fogged up and I was rinsing them. Tabatha was somewhere behind me.

Suddenly I felt my board shorts being yanked down my legs to my ankles.

“Hey!”

Too late I realised that it was probably not a good idea to draw attention to my predicament. But the adults hadn’t heard my exclamation and I sank quietly under the water to pull up my shorts and look for the culprit. The water was crystal clear and I could see Tabatha laughing under water a meter away, her white skin rendered ghostly by the underwater light. She was pointing at my shrivelled penis that was caught in the elastic of my shorts as I tried to pull them up. As I looked down, he too was a ghostly white. Small and wrinkly and anaemic. That’s not a good look for a penis. No wonder she was laughing.

I was embarrassed. But I’d been watching Tabatha today, all curvy and glistening in her skimpy bathers when her body emerged from the water. If that was the game she wanted to play, then bring it on. I had been undressing her with my eyes and I would be only too pleased to pull off her dacks for real and get a longer look at that gorgeous ass.

Of course, she knew what I was planning and she promptly got out of the pool to escape retribution. So I bided my time.