Beth and her Brother

Author Anonymous

A Family Love Fantasy

My sister Beth and I grew up on a farm in Indiana. Living
out in the country was pretty much a dull and restricted sort
of life for teenagers. Since we had to ride the school bus,
we had no opportunity to participate in extracurricular
school activities–it was off to school in the morning and
back home right school was out. This schedule cut down on our
opportunities for dating, too, since it gave neither of us
much chance to develop any kind of serious friendships or
romantic relations with others our age. This wasn’t that
much of a problem to me–I was shy around girls, and being
tall and skinny without much in the way of redeeming good
looks, I probably would have had a hard time getting dates
anyway. Sis, though, was different. She was pretty. Well,
in fact, she was more than pretty, she was downright
beautiful. Petite at five-foot-two and 100 pounds, with long
blonde hair, blue eyes, and a figure that could have easily
gotten her elected to cheerleader, Beth could have had almost
any boy in school if she had the opportunity and set her mind
to it.

Beth and I never played “doctor” or “you-show-me-yours-and-
I’ll-show-you-mine” games. Oh, we sometimes talked about
sex, but we never went beyond that point. Our parents were
very strict, and discussion or mention of sexual subjects was
a family taboo. That home atmosphere, together with a
natural shyness we both seemed to have, prevented us from any
type of overt sexual exploration with each other.

This is not to say I wasn’t interested in sex, because I was.
The truth was that I stayed horny most of the time. Since I
had no opportunities to get rid of my horniness by dating and
having sex with girls, I relieved myself by masturbation.
Invariably, it was Beth I fantasized about when beating off.
Even though I had never seen Beth nude, I had seen her in a
bathing suit down at the creek and in shorts and halter
around the house, so I could develop good mental pictures of
what a naked Beth might look like. These pictures filled my
mind as I played my solitary sexual games.

One day, though, when I was sixteen and Beth fifteen, I de-
cided the mental pictures were not enough–I wanted to see in
real life what Beth looked like without any clothes. Since
Beth never went around the house unclothed, I could do this
only by peeking through the keyhole in the bathroom when she
was taking a shower. One evening our parents were out in the
barn when Beth went into the bathroom and I decided to take
advantage of the opportunity. I waited until the shower
started running and then went and stooped by the door and
looked through the keyhole. One of the floor boards outside
the bathroom squeaked loudly when I stepped on it and I hoped
Beth didn’t hear it. Apparently she didn’t because she began
to take the towel from around her body. Just one second more
and I would be able to see Beth’s lovely body. That second
didn’t come, though, because Dad shouted at me at just this
time–yelling and raising hell all over the place. Dad had
come into the house without my hearing and caught me in the
act of playing Peeping Tom.

Both my parents shamed me in front of Beth and threatened a
severe beating if I ever pulled a stunt like that again.
This absolutely and completely embarrassed me, and I was
almost afraid to look Beth in the eye. She never mentioned
it, though, and acted as if everything were okay. Not once,
in later life was the subject ever brought up. Not once,
either, did I ever try again to peep at Beth.

Beth and I both finished growing up. I went to college and
so did Beth. After we finished college, I got a job in Los
Angeles and Beth in Philadelphia. We saw each other only on
visits back to the farm, and gradually we drifted apart, with
occasional letters being our only contact.

Neither of us married. I don’t know what reason Beth had for
staying single, but my reason was shyness around girls and a
rather plain appearance. Also, in my mind the ideal girl was
one just like Beth, and I could never find a girl that
measured up to her standards. We may have no longer been
close to each other, but Beth was still very much in my mind.
In my pleasure fantasies, it was still Beth I pictured. She
was my standard for female perfection and was the subject of
all my masturbatory dreams. I continued to keep a big-as-
life picture in my mind of how she would have looked if I had
been able to see her drop that towel those years before.

Mom and Dad were killed in a car accident, and Beth and I
buried them in a cemetery near the farm. We didn’t want to
sell the farm house because it held so many warm memories for
us, so we kept the house and several acres around it and sold
the rest of the farm. The property had substantially accrued
in value, and we each got a good sum of money from its sale.

Beth had been writing on a part-time basis and was pretty
good at it, having sold several magazine articles. She
decided that the money from the property sale would give her
the independence to quit her job and take up writing full-
time. She also decided that the farm house would be an ideal
place for her to live while pursuing this career. This would
be a good arrangement for both of us–the house would be
occupied and maintained Beth would have a comfortable place
to live. She offered to pay me rent on my half of the house,
but I laughed her out of the idea, promising to make up for
it by coming to visit her often enough to lay claim to my
portion.

Several months passed without our seeing each other. We
wrote often, though, our friendship being renewed by our
recent mutual experiences. In every letter she invited me to
come visit, but my schedule never seemed to allow it.
Finally, though, I got a breather in my work and decided to
take some vacation–two whole weeks to go back home to the
farm, laze around, and visit with Beth.

I arrived at the farm on a Saturday afternoon. It was an
exceptionally warm May day, with the sun beating down and the
temperature in the high 80s. When I drove up, Beth was out
working in her garden. She had her back turned to me when I
first got there and was bending over some plants. All she
had on was a pair of brief running shorts and a halter that
was little more than a skimpy bra. I was presented with a
picture of the most stunning female backside I could ever
recall seeing. Beth’s square shoulders sloped downward to a
narrow waist and then curved out into perfect round, firm
buttocks. She was still a sylph of a girl, as petite and
well-shaped as she was when we were in high school. The only
way she might have changed was in her breasts: they seemed
even larger and more full than they were then. <And why not,
she was a more mature woman than she was then, and her body
would have grown even more mature> I thought to myself.

Seeing her like that flooded my mind with memories of our
teenage years together. She was still as beautiful as she
was then, was still the perfect specimen of femininity. All
my fantasies came rushing back to me and caused my face to
flush in embarrassment at myself.