One Big, Happy Family Ch. 03

The night that I was raped started like most others. My name is Christy, I’m a twenty one year-old nurse and I live with my mother Maria, my brother Will, and my Aunt Lori. My father passed away a few years ago, but his insurance allowed us to live well. Mom didn’t work and my brother was twenty-five, a college graduate with an engineering degree who free-lanced but hadn’t found his true calling yet, ( or so I supposed.) My Aunt was a waitress at a local diner, mostly because I believe that she liked to flirt and had a sassy personality that garnered her plenty of tips and compliments on her alluring figure. She really wasn’t the “homebody type” and was much more out-going than any of us.

Mom is basically a “shopper.” Hey, she has a little money now and alot of free time, so why not. Isn’t that what most women strive for? And I think its done wonders for her. Lately, she has come out of her conservative shell, maybe getting out and being free to express her personality has been enriching for her. She still has a great figure after forty years and two children and she has begun to show it off. I haven’t noticed any special new man in her life, but now that I think about it, she is awfully secretive about her social life and I’ve seen her whispering to both my aunt and brother on many previous occasions.

Her clothes and manner of speaking have both changed, especially at home. She was always rather prim and guarded in public and was a proper example of motherhood with us. But in the past few months, I’ve seen more cleavage revealed in her choice of outfits and she uses more provocative language with all of us and even engages in tickling matches and “dirty” banter that she used to find inappropriate. I don’t know if possibly my aunt has opened her up to coquettish ways, or if my brother’s semi-juvenile behavior has corrupted her. Either way, I think it’s great that they all get along so well and I wish sometimes that I was more involved in their circle, but I’m fairly conservative too, and my dealings with the public often are on a more serious level.

My aunt is only 32 years old and she and Will have always been close due to their slight age difference. Lori is a bawdy lady and Will is a free-spirit, their connection runs deep and I think that they are rubbing-off on my mom. Those two have been on the same wave-length for a while now, sharing little secrets and always seeming to be involved in private conspiracies. They whisper jokes to each other and are always sneaking away for something where they emerge later-on, laughing or acting as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. And now, mom has joined in their small clique, trading subtle glances and disappearing in twos or threes, while almost pretending that I must be just imagining things.

I know that I sound paranoid at times, and I really do just want them to be happy, but sometimes, I swear that I have just missed catching them with a hand in the cookie jar and I see twitching eyebrows and sideways looks that have a suggestive, guilty air to them. I only wish that every so often I am invited-in on whatever secretive doings that they have going on. I desperately want to be included in their happiness or want to be a partner in their crimes. But I don’t wish to say anything negative or obvious, for fear of allowing my own battered ego to harm our family dynamic. I love them all and I know that truly, they are not shutting me out of anything, and only my loneliness is the thing that’s affecting me. What else could it be?

I’m about 5’6″ and weigh 120 pounds, (most of tits, as Lori would say.) I have shoulder-length, wavy brownish-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. My round figure includes big cheeks and pouty pink lips. At work, they say that I have curves in all the right places and as I’ve said, I inherited the family’s tendency toward bodaciousness. I’d guess that mom is probably a 36 Double-D, Aunt Lori a 34D and I am the runt, merely a 34C. But the doctors are always hitting on me and they mention (just loud enough for me to hear,) that I am built for pleasure.

But pleasure is something that I have not found much of. Maybe that is why I feel so isolated at home and cloistered at work. I’m not a virgin, but I am fairly straitlaced. Most of my exotic sexual escapades are rooted in my latenight fantasies. But I am very interested in breaking-out of my sexually-stunted shell and experiencing more erotic adventures.

I take my profession seriously and never fool around at work and will not even join my male co-workers for anything more than coffee or “happy hours” with a group of people. I don’t care to ruin my reputation, and infact I believe that some of my disaffected male suiters have been spreading the rumor that I’m a lesbian. Even if I were, (and I’ve had sexual fantasies concerning both sexes,) I would not do anything in public view. If I could find a partner (or partners of either sex,) to have fun with and feel free to experiment with all manner of imagined kinks, who would keep our behavior hidden and never think to humiliate or blackmail me, I would certainly enjoy the opportunity to express my overwhelming desires to give and receive pleasure with no holds barred.

My vivid imagination about steamy, raunchy, sexual liaisons have lately not only infiltrated my nightly dreams but have begun to color my waking moments too. When I sit at home with my family, I am always thinking that their familial closeness seems just a bit too intimate. I hear scraps of conversation and detect sexual overtures. And I know that I have not developed “x-ray vision,” but I can see that both my mother and my aunt are apparently prancing around the house more and more, without wearing bras and my brother not only is in a near-constant state of erection but he seems to sit with his legs spread when facing me and he appears to stroke his rigid appendage blatantly infront of the women.

This sexual openness is new to me and also new in our home. I have to continually question myself as to whether I’m fantasizing in broad daylight or if there is some mysterious sensual tension in the room. Aunt Lori, Will and amazingly, my mom will make open and sometimes lewd jokes or remarks about one another’s anatomy if they happen to spot the ponderous bulge in Will’s tight-fitting shorts or the sharply protruding and clearly well-defined nipples of the ladies. And then they seem to take great joy in humiliating me by drawing me into their perverted discourse.

I am often asked by one or all of them if my nervous agitation while they are teasing each other, is a sign that I am being “turned-on” by their deviant behavior and if I am feeling a certain warmth in my pelvic region or trying to conceal my own sprouting nipples. I am forced to stumble through uncomfortable laughter or actually leave the room. Then I hear them commenting on my figure just like at work, loud enough that I know they’re talking about me but not quite understanding the meaning of it all. They generally beg me not to leave or mention that they are “just being silly,” or that some combination of alcohol and innocent conversation between adults is just a pleasant way to unwind together.

When I make my retreat to my bedroom or to the downstairs den, I am usually left with a torrent of visual imagery and lingering thoughts of sexual corruption and incest. Then I’m forced to re-examine the previous encounter and dissect every phrase and gesture, wondering what exactly I’m missing or getting wrong! But the images in my head won’t subside. And every time that I go over it, my mind’s eye tells me that Will was sneakily cupping each woman’s breasts and only pulling his hand away when I looked up. Or that as he sat between them on the couch as he often did, they would both stealthily rub his generous mound, and all three of them looked sweaty and aroused. Then I swear that they watch for my reaction, not to worry about my sensitive nature but to gauge my interest in their semi-private seduction. And as these perversions danced through my feverish brain, I would become aware that my own body was astir with a heated and emotional response that I knew was at once wicked and alluring. And my fingers compulsively slipped beneath my damp panties and combed through the wiry, sticky thatch of pubic hair that was emitting a moistened scent of my arousal and itched to be satisfied.

I would try to clear my mind of these highly erotic images or to assure myself that I was reading way too much into fairly innocent family fun. Maybe I just needed to get laid. But the tangled situation always hovered close to the surface. Each time that I entered the room when two or more of them would be sitting on the couch; sometimes sharing a blanket and other times seeming to lay vulgarly close, if they failed to notice me right-away, it was like young adults at a drive-in, then they would suddenly freeze or quickly remove their roaming hands and swiftly smooth the covers. It was like a deer caught in the headlights. They would separate themselves and sit “bolt upright” while their clothing looked disheveled and their faces flush. I often felt like I was a parent, walking in on a party of teenagers who were caught doing something illicit.

There was always a routine to be followed once their groping was exposed. Moments of throat-clearing and eyes shifting among themselves. Sweaty strands of hair would be plastered to reddened faces and alot of heavy breathing would be noticeable on each frame. A quick, not-so-subtle perusal of their own clothing and any revealing body parts and a hasty attempt at a clumsy cover-up. Then an awkward few minutes of silence or nervous laughter as they moved to reach for magazines or turn-up the volume on the television. They often seemed hesitant to stand up, because nipples were pointing through thin blouses and a certain hard cock sprouted ominously in someone’s lap. Sometimes zippers needed to be hastily raised or buttons fumblingly refastened. And while they didn’t actually seem to be embarrassed as much as annoyed or disappointed, I generally felt as though I were intruding or had accidently interrupted their private, little party. Could there be a rational, innocent explanation to any of this?