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.

Later in the afternoon, either because it was so hot or because she forgot, she got back in the pool. I managed to get back in and behind her unseen. I took a deep breath and submerged. I watched her leg muscles work as she bounced off the floor of the pool in the buoyant water. Her bathers had been pushed up into her crack and the plump curves of her buttocks were in full view. I got close enough to see a few small air bubbles clinging to the goose bumps on her arse. The narrow waist band of her bikini bottoms sat high on the sloping curve of her hips. I realised then that pulling down a girl’s pants is not as straightforward as dacking a boy. But I wasn’t going to pass up this chance. I reached out to quickly grab the waist band at either side and stretched it out and down at the same time.

Even under water I could hear Tabatha shrieking. I only got the clingy lycra half way down her ass before the waist band caught on her hips and she started twisting and she plunged her hands underwater to stop me. In her violent movements the water boiled and she scratched my hand and banged my nose with her elbow. I got water up my nose and abandoned the effort without having really seen much of her bare arse at all.

“He was trying to pull down my pants!” As I emerged from the water I heard the unjust betrayal. I was stunned.

“Andrew Hall!” my mother shouted.

“She started it! She dacked me first!”

Mum, Alf and Barbara were staring open mouthed, looking from me to Tabatha and back again.

“I did not! You’re a LIAR!”

If I didn’t know the truth, I would have believed her myself. The expression of outrage on Tabatha’s face was so genuine.

“Andrew that is NOT acceptable behaviour!” Mum sounded much more distraught than the measured words. She was trying to contain herself in front of Alf and Barbara. “Don’t you EVER treat your sister like that again!”

Barbara gave me that contemptuous look as if to say, “you boys are all the same”. Alf was giving me a curious look as if he had underestimated me.

I didn’t like the way anyone was looking at me. But there was nothing I could do. Tabatha had cast me as a cowardly, lying, sex maniac. I was seething at her treachery. I got out of the pool and stomped off up the garden into the house and slammed my bedroom door shut.

We were still at that age when it is easy for a brother and sister to hate each other. The fall-out from that afternoon lasted for months. Tabatha wouldn’t acknowledge the unfairness of what she had done or apologise for it. And I wouldn’t forgive her for it.

I worried that Mum would never hug me again without reservation. My reputation as her good little boy crumbled that day. There seemed no way to explain to her what had happened. We never spoke about it again. But after a few awkward days things slowly returned to normal.

In the September school holidays of that year we went to Noosa for a week. We had separate rooms, but for two nights a friend of Mum’s came to stay and Mum offered Tabatha’s room to her and Tabatha had to sleep in the bunk bed in my room. She took the top bunk.

That first night when she returned from the bathroom in her night shirt and I watched her lovely bare legs climbing the ladder, my heart began to thaw for the first time in months. She fell asleep before I did, and I lay there listening to her restful breathing. This was a new experience for me. There was an intimacy between us I had never appreciated before. Her smell had moved in with her. Her suitcase smelled of freshly laundered cotton and her hair smelled of green apple conditioner. Even the minty smell of her breath wafted down from above.

I could hear her and smell her and imagine her naked body and imagine her soft warmth as she slept above me. I wanted her, but I couldn’t see or touch her.

In the morning Tabatha had gotten up before me and gone for a shower. She came back wrapped in a towel. I was reminded of that night by the pool, but this time it was daylight and I could see better, although I pretended to be still asleep. I hoped that if she thought I was still asleep, she might get dressed in front of me.

With her back to me Tabatha bent over to get stuff out of her case. I caught the most tantalising glimpse of the diamond shaped thigh gap at the top of her legs. But then she bent her knees and turned her head. She seemed to have that sixth sense that girls have, when a guy is behind them and staring. I quickly shut my eyes before she caught me looking. When I opened them again she had gone back to the bathroom to get dressed.

Later that morning, Tabatha went to the beach and Mum and her friend went to Aroma’s for a coffee. With the apartment to myself I took the opportunity to rummage through Tabatha’s stuff. I had inhaled her clean smells last night and now I hungered for her dirty smells. I sniffed the crotch of her bikini bottoms and her panties, but they were all clean and odourless.

The following morning I woke just after sunrise. Tabatha was still asleep in the top bunk. I lay there listening to her breathing for a while. Then I stood up and watched her sleeping. Her shiny brown hair was spread out all over the pillow. Her face was relaxed and peaceful. I’d never thought of my sister as pretty before. I always thought her eyes were a bit plain. A dull brown colour she must have got from her dad. Mum’s eyes are green and mine are hazel. But as she lay there with her eyes closed, she looked beautiful. Her long eyelashes, flushed cheeks and delicate pouting lips all contrasted with her porcelain skin. I wanted to kiss her. I was so desperate to touch her. I’d never touched a girl in a sexual way before. And here was a beautiful girl, just lying there in my bedroom.

I slid my hands under her doona. My heart was pounding at the risk of her waking and catching me. I inched my hands forward so slowly that it seemed to take forever to find her thighs. Then I felt her warmth before I felt her skin. Finally my fingers brushed lightly against her. She felt soft and smooth. Her skin was nothing like mine. I must have tickled her because she stirred. I froze. But she rolled over without waking.

Nothing more happened that holiday. We returned to Melbourne and life returned to normal. Permanently erect and frustrated, but normal. Then one Saturday morning, my normal morning erection blew the lid off our seemingly normal lives.

My Mum had bought me a new pair of summer pyjamas. Just shorts and a matching t-shirt in pale blue. The shorts were made of a light weight synthetic material that was like silk or satin. They had an open fly.

During the school week, I had a shower and got dressed in my school uniform before I came down to breakfast. But on the weekend I liked to stay in my pyjamas and have a more leisurely shower after breakfast.

Mum had had a late night and she and Tabatha were both sleeping late one Saturday. I went down to the kitchen and poured myself some cereal. It was a good job nobody was around because I had a super-erection and my new shorts were not hiding it very well. My morning erections had been difficult to hide for a while and I was operating on the assumption that Mum and Tabatha could see them if they looked, but they were politely choosing not to look. Everyone knew boys my age had morning erections. It couldn’t be helped. And it was just common decency not to stare or point or comment about the elephant in the room.

“Oh! You’re up already. Good morning sweetheart. Did I sleep that late?”

“Mmnh,” I grunted. Mum went straight to the coffee machine as usual. Tabatha appeared a few minutes later, walking like a grumpy zombie in her night shirt.

“That coffee machine is so loud, Mum. It wakes me every morning.” Tabatha climbed onto a bar stool at the island bench beside me. Unlike me, she always expected to be served breakfast by Mum.

As I spooned another mouthful of cereal from my second bowl of the morning, I did my regular check of Tabatha’s thighs, looking discreetly down and to the right where she sat beside me. I was in luck today. Her night shirt had caught on the stool and pulled in a way that bared her whole left thigh. The fabric lay across her lap like a loin cloth, but her left thigh was bare all the way up to the side of her white buttock, which hung off the edge of the seat of the stool.

My heart leapt and the spoon stopped in mid-air. My mouth hung open, but no longer for the cereal. Tabatha was flicking through a magazine, clearly oblivious to the fact that she was exposed. My morning erection throbbed painfully larger and pushed uncomfortably against the fabric of my shorts. I shifted my weight to release the pressure, but I kept staring at Tabatha’s creamy bare thigh.

Suddenly Mum’s voice spoke behind me. I hadn’t been aware she was there. “Tabatha, make yourself decent and, Andy, don’t stare at your sister like that.”

Tabatha looked down at her night dress and pulled it out from under her to cover herself up. She looked at me, but I had already looked away and resumed eating.

“Was he staring at my legs again, Mum? I asked you to speak to him about that. It’s not right the way he looks at me.” I blushed bright red. Here was I thinking I was getting away with sneaking glances and she was on to me all along. “I bet he’s got an erection too, Mum.”

“Tabatha! There’s no need for talk like that!”

“Look! He has!” I was mortified. This was worse than the dacking incident in the pool.

What happened next, happened so fast and was so confusing at the time, that I didn’t understand any of it until after it was over.

It seems my cock chose that exact moment to pop out through the open fly of my shorts. Like Tabatha with her dress, I didn’t feel it or notice it immediately. But Tabatha was looking at my crotch when it happened and saw it immediately. I was watching her face and her reaction didn’t make any sense to me. She gasped, open mouthed in disbelief and then she smiled and stifled a laugh.

“That’s not yours!” she said. “That’s Mum’s!”

I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, but she was pointing as my crotch and when I looked down I could see my erection was rampant and sticking up a good four inches clear of the fly. I quickly tried to put it back inside my shorts, but it sprung back out again.

“Mum, Andy’s stolen your King Cock and he’s got it in his pants.” Then to my great surprise, Tabatha made a grab for my cock. As much as I might have wished for my sister to touch my cock in recent months, this was not the scenario I had in mind. I pushed her hand away and pushed my cock back into my shorts and stepped off the bar stool to back away from my crazy sister. I looked to Mum for support, but she had a look on her face that did not seem right and she too was staring at my crotch. As I stood there for a moment taking all this in, my erection popped back out of the fly again.

“Andrew Hall! You have no right taking things from my bedside drawer that don’t belong to you! If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not funny!” She was red faced and furious. I was aghast and so bewildered at my Mum that I didn’t even think to put my cock away this time. “Give that to me!” she yelled, pointing at my cock.

“Mum,” Tabatha was saying, but I was turning on my heels and running from this madness.

‘ANDREW!” Mum screamed. I ran faster. Behind me I could hear Tabatha’s voice.

“Mum! I felt it. It was real. It was his.”

I slammed my bedroom door. I couldn’t make sense of what just happened.

A few minutes later, Tabatha knocked on my bedroom door. I didn’t say anything, but she came in anyway.

“Mum said I have to apologise.”

It didn’t sound like it was going to be very heart felt. I didn’t even bother to look up.

“I’m sorry for grabbing your penis. It looked like Mum’s dildo and I didn’t think it could possibly be yours because I saw that little grey thing in the pool and . . . well, I’m sorry.”

“Did you tell Mum that you saw my penis in the pool after you pulled my shorts off?”

“Well, no, not really.”

“Well, you should! Mum obviously thinks I’m a pervert who goes around pulling down girls’ pants and stealing dildos. And Barbara gives me a filthy look every time I see her.”

“Oh, the golden boy’s image is tarnished. Boo hoo! Welcome to my world, little brother. People give me dirty looks and treat me like a slut all the time. And I haven’t done anything to deserve it either. Uncle Alf’s been leering at me for years. He’s even started patting me on the bum. What do you think he would do to me if I had’ve ‘fessed up to a dacking game with my brother?”

“Well, you should have thought of that before you dacked me!”

There was a long pause and Tabatha looked down sheepishly. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry, Andy.”

“That’s OK,” I conceded. It was good to finally clear the air between us after all these months of resentment. Then it occurred to me, “Mum has a dildo?”

“Yeah, she lets me borrow it sometimes. It’s called a “King Cock” and it looks real and it’s seven and a half . . .” she started to talk excitedly before she caught herself. “Well, let’s just say that there’s no shame in having your penis mistaken for a King Cock.” She gave me a curious look and then left. There was something vaguely familiar about that look.

Mum came past a short time later and apologised too. She didn’t say what for. She was blushing the whole time and it was very awkward. I sort of felt sorry for her. But I was also angry with her, too. She had told me that masturbating was a sin. But she kept a dildo beside her bed and presumably used it. And she loaned it out to my sister! I felt betrayed.

Up until that point, my Mum and her Catholic faith had been my moral compass. I thought I knew what was right and what was wrong. Fantasising about your sister was wrong. Masturbating was wrong. But when you find out that your Mum and your sister have been masturbating with a replica of your cock, it turns things upside down.

As I lay in bed that night, I decided to give my soul over to the devil. I got a bottle of baby oil and a box of tissues from the bathroom. I poured the oil on my cock and started to rub it up and down my shaft. My fingers slipped over the bulging head of my circumcised cock and it felt extra good as they slipped down over the frenulum, so I kept rubbing there. The events of that day seemed to free my imagination and my hands in a way that was not before possible.

It was not lost on me that my Mum and my sister shared a prosthetic penis that was indistinguishable from mine. That my cock was their ideal. I didn’t even have to conjure up any images. Just mulling over that concept while I rubbed my cock made me squirt a single shot of jizz that stretched from my navel to my nipple as I lay naked on my bed.

That first orgasm was a strange one. It was like a single sneeze. It was as if I hadn’t come at all. My cock stayed hard and after I wiped up the mess with a tissue, I kept going.

I thought about how Tabatha had reached over at the breakfast table and grabbed my cock. If only she would do that to me every morning. I squeezed my own cock in the way I wanted Tabatha to squeeze it when she grabbed me. After ten minutes of squeezing, I came again. This one seemed more normal. I squirted about 5 times. But my cock was still hard and I kept going. The oil was drying up and so I added more.

I thought about Tabatha skinny dipping in the pool with me. I remembered for the first time the tingling feeling of her hands against my skin just before she pulled off my shorts. I thought about the towel dancing at the tops of her sexy thighs and the diamond shaped thigh gap, where her thighs seemed to pucker up to her buttocks. After 15 minutes of this, I came again. Only with this third orgasm did I start to feel relief. My balls seemed painfully full before I started. They still felt full, but the ache was gone.

My cock wilted slightly after the third orgasm. But I imagined myself walking up behind Tabatha as she bent over her suitcase in Noosa. I imagined slipping my fingers into that gorgeous diamond shaped opening between her legs and fingering that warm, wet pussy that I had dreamed about. And I imagined fingering her in her sleep that morning in the bunk bed. I got hard again thinking of these things and as I kept rubbing slowly over that sensitive elastic band of skin under the head of my cock, my body tensed and I squirted out another load of cum all over my stomach.

I looked at the clock beside my bed. I had come 4 times in 40 minutes. The sex ed book my mum gave me said that it was rare for men to come more than 3 times in an hour and that if anyone told you they did, they were probably lying. But it seemed to me that it was my mum and her book that withheld the facts.

I could probably have rolled over and gone to sleep at that point. That full feeling in my balls was gone. But my cock still twitched and swelled at my touch. This was all new to him and he liked the attention. He reminded me of his greatest frustration. That unfinished blow job from Tabatha in my dream. I had tried not to think about it for a long time afterwards. I had not wanted to fantasise about my sister. But now I knew that she got off on sticking a latex cock up her pussy that was just like mine. She had told me that people treated her like a slut. She had given me that curious look when she spoke about my cock. It was the same look from my dreams. It was as if her pupils were dilated. It was an intense, lustful look.

Suddenly it no longer seemed wrong to put my cock in my sister’s mouth and it no longer seemed unlikely that she would suck it willingly and wantonly. I wanted to feel her warm wet tongue on my frenulum. That delicate tip of her tongue licking the delicate tip of me.

My cock felt like it was about to explode as I relived that dream of Tabatha sucking my cock while I rubbed myself with baby oil. My body stiffened like a board and there was an almost painful contraction of muscles in the base of my cock. I got quite a shock when a hot squirt of cum landed on my face in the darkness. My facial muscles flinched. The second squirt hit me in the hollow at the base of my neck. The rest squirted on my chest and stomach. There was no lubricating fluid in this final load. It was pure, freshly made semen. It had a strong, floury smell.

Now my cock was sore and my balls ached again. This time from over use. I looked at the clock again. It was less than one hour since my first orgasm. I had come 5 times in an hour.

After I wiped the cum off my face and my body I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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