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Archive name: ourtown1.txt (Mm/f, rom, ped)
Authors name: Lor Oldmann (jamwad@hotmail.com)
Story title : Our Town - 1

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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
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Our Town - 1 (Mm/f, rom, ped)
by Lor Oldmann (jamwad@hotmail.com)

***

Coming of age and the awakening sexuality of a teenage 
brother and younger sister. Non-incestuous.

***

In an odd way I was flattered and he made me feel good. I 
had just turned sixteen and Jed had been a GI in Vietnam. 
He had been drafted, sent there as a boy of eighteen, and 
served for less than a year when we had to evacuate our 
soldiers from Saigon. It was our greatest national 
humiliation and our returning fighting men were made to 
feel it.

"I knew it would happen," declared Jed's father when the 
boy finally reached home. "You are a fucking failure, a 
fucking recipe for disaster wherever you go. And now 
you've done it on a grand scale and lost us the fucking 
war!" 

Jed and his father never got on. I suppose that is why he 
hung around our place so much. At least, I had convinced 
myself that was the reason. It made me feel superior, 
because I got on well with both my parents and my young 
sister Deri. I was quite convinced that we had a close-
knit, normal, happy family; there was an arrogance about 
the way we 'took Jed in' so to speak. 

When Jed and I were alone, which was practically every 
day when I was not in school for a couple of years, we 
used to throw a football at each other or play a kind of 
baseball, but it was difficult with just the two of us. 
We fished in the local stream or went for long walks. And 
when we had nothing better to do, we would watch 
television or videos or play cards at my place. 

We lived in a small town in Kansas near the state line 
with Colorado and Oklahoma. There used to be a thriving 
mining industry there, but now it is nothing more than a 
sleepy watering hole with a filling station and a diner 
for truckers or passing tourists. Jed worked in the 
filling station, did the odd turn at fixing automobiles 
or the Keaton's or Mason's tractors, cleaned up for old 
Mrs. Chessip at the diner, and kept the half dozen lawns 
in the town tidy. There is an old Catholic mission 
church, but there hasn't been a service there in my 
lifetime, and Jed's dad said that he could only vaguely 
remember the last priest moving out of the stone-built 
house attached to the church like a ramshackle lean-to. 
There is also a general store that reminds the old folk 
of a frontier trading post, and an elementary school with 
less than twenty kids. 

It was freaky, but in the actual town, apart from Jed and 
me, there was only one other boy, a skinny, gawky kid 
called Theodore Webb, who was a year younger than my kid 
sister, Deri, and she was around nine or ten years old at 
the time I am writing about. There was one other girl 
called Shirley Verne; she was quite a bit older than 
Deri, nearer my age, but she was an imbecile and never 
allowed out beyond the family property without either 
parent or both taking her by the hand. Jed and I used to 
talk dirty or stupid to her in passing when she swung 
back and forward on the garden gate.

Occasionally, when there was no one else around, Jed 
would feel her up; she always wore ridiculously short 
dresses or skirts and loose knickers, almost like boxer 
drawers. But it was scary the way she stared at me while 
Jed groped her. All the other kids in the town school 
apart from Deri and Theodore came from outlying farms. 
The junior high was thirty miles away, and the senior 
high even farther, and an old-fashioned, yellow minibus 
transported me and half a dozen farm kids there and back 
during schooldays. And that about sums up our town.

Jed started coming round to our place when Deri had just 
turned nine. She had an instant crush on him and he 
encouraged her every inch of the way. He used to play 
checkers or poker with my dad on the porch at the 
weekends, and Deri occasionally sat on the double stool 
beside him. I did not think anything of it at the time, 
but sometimes they would rub legs together under the 
table.

When there was only the three of us around, she would 
snuggle up close to Jed as they sat on the swinging 
garden seat and he would put his arm around her. I would 
pretend to do some gardening, or practice my golf swing. 
From time to time they would whisper secrets to each 
other. And they would look over at me, then Deri would 
giggle and Jed would snigger. 

"Greg's my best buddy!" he would declare, and Deri would 
say, "He's my favorite brother!" And they would laugh as 
if they had made a great joke at my expense.

"Fat choice either of you have!" I would retort. "In this 
town!"

I could hardly help but notice that they rarely sat 
together this close when my parents were anywhere near. 
When we were indoors watching television Deri always sat 
with my mom or dad in one of the massive armchairs in our 
sitting room or on a kind of footstool.

And then, one night three-quarter way through Deri's 
tenth year, when it was only the three of us again 
watching the new Aliens video, I noticed Jed's hand 
playing guitar with her chest. Her tiny pimple nipples 
were sticking out rigid under the tight tee-shirt. And 
her hand was rubbing up and down Jed's upper thigh. I 
felt a kind of sickness in my stomach for it was obvious 
that Jed had been aroused, and it was this great bulge in 
his pants that my kid sister was caressing. I had great 
difficulty in deciding whether my feeling was one of 
nausea, outrage or jealousy.

It was only a few weeks later, at the start of the long 
summer vacation from school, that another small step was 
taken by Jed and a giant stride for me. It had been a 
stiflingly hot day. My dad was away. He was a kind of 
claims investigator and trouble-shooter for a company of 
insurance brokers. His office was in Ulysses, but it was 
not unusual for him to be away from home for days or 
weeks at a time. On this particular occasion, he was in 
Hawaii.

My mom, who was secretary to Dr. Winsonleigh, a 
veterinary surgeon in Richfield, phoned to say that she 
would be late home, and would I take Deri to the diner 
and tell Mrs. Chessip that she would settle the bill when 
she got back, but not to let us make pigs of ourselves 
and to feed us only what she would give her own children 
- if she had had any! I had a funny feeling in the pit of 
my stomach as mom was speaking; I could not help toying 
with the notion that she always seemed to be working 
extra hours when dad was away from home. And on this 
occasion her talk was rambling and her voice was slurred 
and hesitant as if she had been drinking.

"My treat," said Jed grandly when I made the 
announcement. "And you can eat your fill of what you 
want." He sniggered in his own peculiar way. "And I'll 
take the blame for it and any shit that's thrown when 
your mom gets home."

Afterwards, we returned to our place because Jed had 
fallen out with his father again. Deri went immediately 
to her room. When she reappeared she was wearing 
outrageously abbreviated cut-aways and a loose off the 
shoulder thing that hardly reached her navel. I suggested 
playing lawn quoits or badminton. The other two scoffed 
at the idea and sat together on the garden lounger.

"It's almost dark, Greg," my sister pointed out with 
contempt.

"Enjoy the cool of the evening, man!" exclaimed Jed.

Deri had switched on her portable radio. They were 
listening to the latest pop chart favorites. I felt 
surplus to requirements. Then I noticed that Jed had his 
arm around my kid sister again and that his hand had 
slipped under the off-the-shoulder tank top and was 
rubbing her chest. Then they started kissing - not the 
kind of kissing you would expect with a near-ten year 
old, but a full blooded, open-mouthed, tongue and teeth, 
slobbering, passionate kiss. And then he was groping 
between her legs and under her shorts.

I was really angry; I felt somehow betrayed, but I had no 
idea how to express my outrage. Deri's thighs were widely 
splayed, the narrow crotch of her shorts and been brushed 
aside, and I could see her little pink pussy being 
stroked by Jed's invading fingers. I was shocked to 
realise that my kid sister was not wearing anything 
underneath. That seemed more important to me than the 
fact that her hips were lifting and dropping with 
increasing tempo to accommodate Jed's explorations.

The phone rang. I let it ring three or four times before 
I went inside to answer it. I was concerned about my 
little sister, but at the same time I was sexually 
aroused by what was happening. I was sure that if I left 
the scene of the crime Jed would be raping Deri by the 
time I returned. And I was well aware that if I tried to 
defend her honor, Jed was capable of smashing my face to 
a bloody pulp. I had seen him doing such a thing at the 
filling station to a so-called 'tough guy' from up north 
who tried to get gas without paying. It showed me a 
dangerous side of him, and it was scary.

It was dad on the phone. He seemed upset when I told him 
that mom was not there. He asked what we had done about 
an evening meal. He seemed further upset when I explained 
about going to Mrs. Chessip's diner. "At least Jed was 
with you," he grumbled. "Jed's a good lad!" I cast an 
anxious glance in the direction of the grunts and moans 
from the garden. I wondered if he would change his 
opinion were he to know what was happening out there. We 
chatted for a couple of minutes,  then he asked to speak 
to Deri. I sighed relief. It was a let-out!

"She's only a kid, Jed!" I voiced my objection to Jed the 
following day, "She's not even ten yet!"

"It was only an innocent bit of fun," explained Jed. 
"Kids like Deri like to be fussed over."

"But she blew off!"

"So?" Jed looked puzzled as if I had pointed upwards and 
told him the sky was in that direction.

"She's not even ten yet," I repeated. I did not want to 
admit my ignorance. So much for sex education in school; 
I really and truly believed that you had to be an adult 
before you could get an orgasm. At sixteen, at least I 
had rid myself of the notion that you had to be married 
in order to have sex! I tried desperately to justify my 
objection. "I read somewhere it could be dangerous for 
someone as young as Deri to blow off." This was a lie.

Jed laughed. "That is shit! It would have been a hellish 
way more dangerous to leave her dangling. Christ, Greg! 
Once a kid gets up like that, as high as Deri was last 
night, you can't leave them dry! That's cruel. You have 
to give them satisfaction; bring them off." He sensed 
that I was unconvinced. "It makes them feel great, 
especially with someone who's a bit older."

"A lot older," I corrected.

That seemed to subdue him. He was more than twice Deri's 
age.

"What's the harm in a little bit of fun?" he demanded 
grudgingly.

We were fishing in the river. We had caught nothing, but 
it helped release the volcanic tension that had been 
growing up inside me.

"I had a kid like Deri in 'Nam," said Jed after a long, 
sullen silence. "She was beautiful. Lin Fi she was 
called." He sighed. It was a sad sound. "Beautiful!" he 
repeated in a whisper, but with greater emphasis. "She 
used to ride me like a fifty dollar whore. I tried 
everything I knew to get her out of Saigon when we left, 
but no one was interested. I was not important enough. 
She was of no importance to anyone but me. It broke my 
heart, but what could I do? Nothing! I have never felt 
more hopeless in my life when I had to leave her behind. 
You should have seen the look on her face when I told 
her."

I was shocked. He was crying. And quite suddenly Jed 
groping my kid sister to an orgasm did not seem all that 
bad, or all that important. Later that day he showed me a 
photograph. It was obviously posed in a studio. Jed in 
full dress uniform was sitting on a kind of chesterfield 
with Lin Fi at his side. She was wearing a traditional 
kind of high-necked kimono. He had an arm across her back 
and his hand rested on the young girl's shoulder, in the 
same way he did with Deri. I had to admit it: although 
the girl in the photograph was around the same age as my 
kid sister, she had a quality of beauty that rightly 
belonged to a much older female. She was like a fully 
mature woman in miniature.

A few days later, I remember it was  a long weekend off 
from work for both my parents, Jed suggested we go 
camping. My folks agreed, but drew the line at Deri 
accompanying us. My sister protested at the injustice. 
She ran outside where Jed, who had been swinging on the 
garden lounger, comforted her. I had no idea what he 
said; the pair clammed up as soon as I appeared. All I 
caught was Deri demanding, "You promise?" and Jed vowing 
on his mother's grave and the pair gazing stardust at 
each other. The outcome was that mom and dad took Deri to 
Florida for the weekend while Jed and I were away.

We set up camp by the side of the Arkansas, at a point 
where it must be close on being the most beautiful river 
in America. We soaked up the late afternoon sun, threw a 
football to each other and generally fooled around. We 
had planned on doing some serious fishing late at night, 
because Jed said it was always best after dark. But 
somehow things became slightly unstuck. Jed had brought 
along a bottle of single malt scotch, a crate of beer and 
an old ice box. It was not the first beer I had tasted, 
but it was the first time I drank the full bottle which 
became the first of several that night. I was light-
headed. Jed drank the whisky with lots of ice, but 
resolutely refused to let me try it.

He had been telling me about Vietnam and the final chaos 
in Saigon. "Your kid sister is a nugget." The comment, 
oddly enough, was not as unexpected as it was sudden. I 
blinked in an attempt to follow his reasoning. Being a 
nugget was the highest compliment that could be paid to 
someone in our corner of Kansas at that time. But it had 
nothing to do with the war in Vietnam. I tried to follow 
the leap from one subject to the other through an 
alcoholic blizzard. "Genuine, pure 24 carat!" He had been 
making such asides about her on and off all day. "Like a 
little bit of perfection."

I found it hard to disagree - and it was not only the 
beer that inhibited me. I liked Deri; I really liked her, 
but she could be a right bitch and a rotten little 
bastard at times. Nevertheless, I reckoned that we were 
as close as it was possible to get in a brother and 
sister without becoming illegal. Jed was not exactly the 
proverbial fly in the ointment, but increasingly of late 
he had displaced me in her obvious affections; she didn't 
joke like she once did, and she had stopped coming into 
my bed on Saturday and Sunday mornings, and when we did 
have sibling time alone she always wanted to talk about 
Jed. 

I voiced my rambling thoughts, and Jed eyed me curiously, 
then suddenly he said, "I was a virgin before I was 
drafted!"

The confession confused me further. It was the way he 
spoke. On the one hand it seemed to be a patronising 
accusation, as if he knew I was still a virgin and felt 
sorry for me. On the other hand, there was the tone of 
voice to suggest it as a statement of intent. And I 
thought to myself, "Jesus! I have to spend the whole 
weekend with this guy, and we are sleeping in the same 
tent!" I remembered the filling station fracas and the 
bloodied face of the would-be smart guy, and thought, 
"Christ! It could be me! What if he tries to rape me?"

As the night wore on and we sat drinking at our makeshift 
campfire, however, I found myself relaxing and indeed 
unburdening my soul to him. I had to confess: I didn't 
even know how to jack off properly, and it was perfectly 
true, I swear it!

"You're kidding me!" Jed gaped at me across the flames.

"I feel stupid doing it to myself." I felt every bit as 
stupid trying to explain my difficulty to another male.

Jed shifted to sit beside me. "It's the easiest thing in 
the world," he said. He had undone my flies, almost 
without my realising what was happening, and was rubbing 
my genitals. "Let me do it. I'll show you how easy it 
is." He started pumping my enlarging meat. "The trick is 
in the mind!" He snickered. "Think of a girl; one you 
like, preferably naked!" He was animatedly pumping his 
hand up and down. "Think of Deri! Coming into your bed! 
Wearing only her knickers! And lying alongside you!"

I tried, I really did try, but the image that flooded my 
mind was not of Deri. It was a shock to the system. I was 
thinking of Shirley Verne wearing her short, button-up 
dress that Jed had opened up to her crotch, and of him 
probing under her loose panties and of her hungry eyes 
fixed on my face. And I blew off! It was one of the most 
exhausting experiences of my life. Sweat poured from me 
as I lay like a soiled napkin on the grass. I could not 
even make up my mind whether or not I had liked the 
sensation. Later - it seemed hours later, but could only 
have been a matter of minutes - I suggested that I do the 
same thing to Jed. He sneered.

"I'd kill any man who tried to touch me like that!"

Again it was the oddest conflict of emotions: at one and 
the same time I felt relieved and a bit more comfortable 
with the idea of sharing a tent with him, but at the same 
time I felt let down and tainted. It was good enough for 
me to be jerked off by another male, but not for Jed. If 
Shirley Verne had been capable of it, I am sure she was 
have had the same feelings when Jed and I fooled around 
with her with the deliberate intention of degrading and 
demeaning her. I felt truly and enduringly sorry for the 
kid and sort of half-promised not to treat her badly ever 
again.

Part of my problem was that I could not erase the memory 
of her image in my mind as I blew off. It was the first 
time in my life, as far as I could remember, that I had a 
genuine regard for another human being. I felt that I 
should volunteer for the International Peace Corps or go 
on a mission to the third world with the Red Cross. But I 
knew there was not a blind thing I would do about it!

Jed blitzed into my reflections. He looked at me 
dangerously and growled, "And I'd kill anyone who tried 
anything on with Deri!"

Then, soon after that weekend, like a flooding of the 
Arkansas or the trembling of an earthquake along the San 
Fernando fault, like the tornado sweeping across the mid-
west plains or the mythical Greek thunderbolt, a series 
of events occurred to shatter the shallow complacency of 
our narrow little corner of Kansas. 

Theodore Webb died from some rare form of blood cancer. 
The shock came from nowhere. I had never spoken much to 
the boy, perhaps no more than a dozen times in his entire 
life, and until the week before his death, he seemed a 
normally healthy, albeit spare, raw-boned kid. Deri 
hardly knew him any better than I did; she met him at 
school and had danced with him a couple of times at the 
discos and fetes organized by the town committee.

His death, however, had a disproportionate effect on both 
of us. Old folk in the town had died before and we had 
accepted it as normal; old Mrs. Bartholomew, our nearest 
neighbor died at the age of ninety-eight and we had 
shrugged it aside as something that was bound to happen 
when you were old; her husband lingered on for another 
couple of years before he too died.

Theodore's death was something quite different. Mr. 
Bartholomew's parents were alive during the Civil War; 
Timothy's parents were born during the second world war. 
It seemed so illogical and unfair. But it served as a 
gruesome kind of preparation for what was to follow.

One immediate effect on Deri, however, was that she 
started coming back to my bed, mostly at the weekends. 
She also started asking awkward questions about God and 
life and sin.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" she demanded one 
Saturday.

I tried to make light of it. "I don't have any plans 
about dying in the near future," I said. I pulled her 
close to me to comfort her.

"I mean, some day!" she insisted. "We are all going to 
die! Mom and dad, you and me, Jed; we are all going to 
die!" Soft, silent little sobs made her body jerk.

"Not for a while yet!" I tried to reassure her. 

"What about Theodore?" she persisted. "He didn't live 
long." She looked up at me with moist eyes. "He wanted to 
kiss me at the last town dance, and I refused, and he 
pleaded because he said that he had never kissed a girl." 
She began sobbing seriously.

I said, "Poor little bastard!"

"He tried to put his hand under my skirt and I slapped 
his face! And now he's dead!" She was inconsolable for a 
long time, then, quite suddenly she twisted upwards and 
kissed me in the same way that Jed and her kissed - open 
mouthed and tongue. She grabbed hold of my cock.

I pushed her away, a bit more coarsely than I had 
intended. "No way!" I exclaimed. I really was outraged 
this time. "Jesus Christ! Deri! Do you know what you are 
doing? That's wrong. That would be incest and rape. I 
could go to jail and they'd put you in some kind of 
juvenile detention center and it would get into the 
newspapers and dad and mom would probably lose their 
jobs."

"Aw! Forget it!" She threw aside the bed covers and 
stalked away from my bed. "Fuck you, Greg!" Gone were the 
tears; the contempt had returned, cold disregard of any 
close kinship between us. "I'll get Jed to do it!"

The entire town had turned out for Theodore's funeral. A 
preacher came from Dodge City, a slimy, crafty-eyed 
individual who ogled the females, young and no-longer-
quite-so-young, and talked about the dead boy being 
cradled in the arms of Jeeeeeessssussss! Apparently the 
Webbs belonged to one of those weird religious groups 
that refused blood transfusions or transplants or drugs 
in any shape or form, and this, according to the 
preacher, was a measure of their faith in Jesus and a 
demonstration of His truth in their lives. What was meant 
to be a solemn send-off turned out to be a bit of a 
French farce that left a sour taste in the communal 
gullet.

Soon after the funeral the Vernes received word that 
their adult son, whose existence came as a shock to the 
rest of the town, had been arrested in San Diego and 
charged with first degree murder. It struck me that we 
did not have such a close-knit, know-everybody's 
business, kind of community after all. What other secrets 
were there in town still to be revealed? It was a really 
eerie awakening to the facts of small town life. I 
shuddered.

"The Webbs have offered to look after Shirley while we 
are away," the girl's mother explained to my parents. She 
shrugged. Her husband shook his head in assenting 
despair. "Well! What are we supposed to do? What if she 
turns sick?" The woman prodded her daughter. "And suppose 
she needs medical assistance? Well! You know what the 
Webbs think of doctors and drugs and medicines!" She 
raised her eyes heavenwards for some sort of divine 
corroboration. "And that preacher! My God!"

"Of course we'll look after Shirley while you are gone," 
said my mother. My dad nodded his approval, but he looked 
doubtful. There was still a couple of weeks left of the 
long school vacation. "Greg and Deri will take care of 
her when we're not here!" It was assumed that the care 
for the retard would be for only a day or two, a week at 
the very most.

The girl stared at me with huge empty, hungry eyes. She 
wore one of her baby short, tight dresses that buttoned 
all the way down the front. It struck me that she had 
really fabulous legs with firm tapering thighs and fleshy 
calves. The contours of her breasts were clearly defined 
and threatened to burst out of her bodice. If only she 
were normal!

The thought about this vulnerable and sensually 
attractive little dish in the same house as me, with mom 
out to work most days and dad off on one of his 
investigations, was having embarrassing side effects. I 
was terrified anyone would notice. I let my clasped hands 
fall in front of my crotch. Deri grinned wickedly.

And of course, the inevitable happened. Mom was off to 
work at the break of day and phoned to say she would be 
working late, and dad conveniently found that he had some 
claim he had to look at in California. Shirley woke about 
eight thirty in the morning and Deri woke me shortly 
after.

"You'd better get up," she said. "Your dream girl is 
walking about nearly naked. I think she has peed her bed 
and she needs to be cleaned up!" She snickered. "And I 
don't intend doing it!"

Shirley had found her way into the garden and was 
swinging on our gate. She was scantily clad, to say the 
least. Her nightdress was minuscule and almost completely 
transparent and she had indeed soiled herself. I hauled 
her inside, led her to the bathroom, stripped her and 
turned the shower on her. She seemed to enjoy being 
soaped and rubbed up and down. I rinsed her off and dried 
her, then took her back to her bedroom and dressed her in 
the shortest dress I could find among her stuff and the 
briefest panties of Deri's.

After that she trailed after me all day. I admit that I 
touched her up some while bathing her and dressing her, 
and I recalled what Jed had said: 'It would be unfair to 
get a kid high and leave her dangling!" Then I took her 
back indoors, straight to my bedroom, laid her across the 
bed, brushed back the skirt of her dress and splayed her 
legs. And instantly shot off in my pants.

Continued in part 2...

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not "real life." Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 19